As dementia steals from my mother, it leaves gifts.

She’s no longer pretending to be what she thinks she’s supposed to be. She’s just being.

My mom loves jigsaw puzzles. If you were to visit, if she liked you, she would raise her eyebrows and ask, “Would you like to work on a puzzle?”

Her mind can still find and position the pieces, snapping them into place with a self-satisfied smile.

Every year, before Christmas, I ask my mom if she would like a jigsaw puzzle, and every year she has been the frugal person she thinks she should be.

“No. Don’t get me a puzzle.” Her voice is forceful. “There are so many puzzles here. I don’t need a puzzle.”

This year, after Mom got the packages I’d ordered for her, she told me she’d accidentally thrown one away. Someone was coming over and she was cleaning up. Then she said she really liked the pajamas with the little red birds. Then, “I haven’t opened any of them. I’m saving them for Christmas.”

A couple of days ago, I got a jigsaw puzzle catalog from Wentworth. Their puzzles are well made, with sturdy shapes and clean cuts. I leafed through it, saw a puzzle that looked like something mom would like.

On our next call, I asked, “Mom, do you like foxes?”

“You mean the brown animals? The little ones?”

“Yes.” I hurried ahead because I didn’t want to get sidetracked into animals. “I saw a jigsaw puzzle with a fox surrounded by colorful flowers. It looked pretty. Would you like me to send it to you?”

“Oh, yes! You know how much I love jigsaw puzzles.”

Sometimes it’s hard to watch Mom’s mind recede. (Because she used to know the little red birds were cardinals.) Sometimes it’s frustrating. (When she calls because “I don’t have any checks. You took my checks and I need to write one.”) But I’m glad she’s in this place, at least for now.

I’m glad she can enjoy what she enjoys and say so.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Thankful for the people who work to clear the snow for the rest of us.