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Call from the Philippines — (My Mom’s Alzheimer’s)

My mother still has a cell phone. I often wonder if it is worth the monthly bill, since she needs help calling even the numbers that are programmed into the phone. Furthermore, I am almost always only a few feet away and I have to help her in answering each call.

In the 21st. Century, a cell phone seems to represent a basic sense of independence. I encourage and help her to answer and return calls to the handful of friends who faithfully call to check on her. However, the liability of preserving her independence has come into question several times:

I walk into my mother’s room and she is animated as she talks on the phone. She is telling someone on the other end where she lives and giving them our address.

“Mom, who is that?” I whisper into her free ear.

“My daughter Dixie just walked in,” she says to the person. I move closer, trepidation gripping me. I lean in and hear a low male voice on the other end.

“Who is it?” I speak in a stage whisper.

She waves me away as she continues to divulge personal information.

“Who is it Mom?” My tone is insistent as I speak loud enough to interrupt the conversation.

“It’s a nice young man. I don’t know his name,” she throws the words at me casually as she continues her…