One Single Greeting To Cherish

Treasuring The Spoken Word



Sometimes we treasure one spoken word more than any other. Permit me to digress for a moment. The feedback I had when I wrote the Alzheimer's post In Memory last week included some wonderful comments from around the world.

One of the comments was, ``I'm amazed at how some things draw blanks and yet other things stay fresh and ready for recall'' from Brian in Oxford.

That is so true, Brian. Alzheimer's is a roulette wheel of random loss. My mother, who was also fluent in Latin and French, had her effervescent personality slowly eroded by the disease. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, we were told that the one, inescapable fact is that Alzheimer's patients or those who suffer with dementia never get better. Never.

So we watched as our mother slowly lost many of her powers. Most poignant of all was the way she lost the power to communicate. Having written letters, immaculately constructed and presented, to family and friends for decades, this great communicator found herself unable to remember simple words. Spoken sentences were suddenly punctuated with silent gaps when she could not remember words like ``clouds'' or ``cars''.

Our son, now a strapping teenager who is built like a quarterback, was never blessed with a real conversation with my mother, simply because she could no longer speak by the time he was a toddler.

He was kindergarten-age when we drove home one evening after celebrating Mum's birthday at the aged care home. He asked his older sister, ``How come Granny never answers when I speak to her?''

Our daughter explained gently that Granny had an illness which meant she could not speak. But she pointed out to her younger brother that Granny showed her love by stroking his cheek, kissing him and hugging him in those strong arms of hers.

``I wish I could hear her speak just once,'' he said solemnly.

Three months later, against all odds, his wish came true. We all walked into a room and my mother fixed her eyes on him, held out her arms to put him on her knee and said, loudly, strongly and clearly, ``Hello''.

He has never forgotten that, and probably never will. It was 25 December and a woman who gave so many people of so many generations so many meaningful Yuletide gifts, had kept the most memorable of them all for her tiny grandson.

It was a Christmas gift he will never forget. Even though it did not come gift-wrapped, in the traditional sense.