Maria Shriver

A Tribute to My Mother Cecy: Reflections on Alzheimer's

By Judy Prescott

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Despite having witnessed my mother Cecy’s twelve-year journey through the rough seas of Alzheimer’s disease, her sudden death last week came as a surprise.

I knew I was losing her, certainly. I’d been informed that a seizure would probably take what was left of Mom’s magnificent life force.

Yet I was completely blindsided.

There is a bit of magical thinking required to endure such a complicated journey with a loved one. We tell ourselves, she “looks great,” she’s “healthy as a horse,” she’s “gaining weight.” How else could we manage such a slow, painful descent into the maelstrom?

I am not one who ever thought of my beautiful mother as just a shell of her former self. Cecy’s fiery Irish spirit was always evident in those impossibly blue eyes.

Cecy gave me the incredible gift of her continued presence, despite the anguish it caused her, by keeping one foot always planted firmly on this earth. She went above and beyond to help me feel her love and encouragement, regardless of her physical limitations.

She knew that I was able to see her and that she continued to make a difference in my life.

WITHOUT A WORD

Without a word
With a silent plea
A crystal blue yearning
Tongue flipping
You taught me

Without a word
You stayed
One foot in my realm
Steady
Preparing me

You knew
I needed the line
A buoy
You luffed
While waiting

I heard it
This stillness we bandied
Loudly
Beating
Banging

You held
Wings flexed
For the sound
Of my soul
Solid

A sudden shiver
To flight
Without a word
You left me
Full

Although we lived on opposite sides of the country, my connection with Mom remained strong throughout her illness. She was part of my daily consciousness…Cecy was part of me.

A few weeks before Mom died, I looked out our window onto the deck and was hit with a sudden image of her as she had been, before her illness. I was unsettled by this vision and wondered why, after so many years, I was remembering Cecy as she once was, something I seldom did.

WRITTEN WHILE WAITING

A simple white rocker
L.L. Bean faux wicker, really
Crossing those long legs
Throwing your head back
Laughing, deviant
Topsiders, hat
I see you now
As you’d be
On my deck

Like a sprite
Black Irish
Mischievous as hell
You’ve come
Clutching iced tea
Wanting to see
Wanting to know this daughter
My daughter
Finally here

I’ve waited for you
Held your place
All these years
Hoping you’d show
And here you are
I see you
She can’t
I see you in my hands
In my impatience

Nice lady I visit
Living alone
With many
Abandoned
Don’t you have a daughter?
Let me brush your hair
Need socks?
Some daughter
I’m here

Haven’t seen you, Mom
For ages
You’re on the deck
I know it’s you
Is it goodbye, then?
Please stay
I like the nice lady
It’s enough
Don’t go

I have your ways
Many of them
I take you on
A final exploration
Before the lady and you
Gotta go
Before you
Unravel me
Holding the thread

So how is it that Mom’s passing came as a complete shock to me? Clearly, in writing the previous poem I had an inkling.

Perhaps after bearing witness to Cecy’s long and arduous struggle, I thought she could overcome anything. Her courage and patience inspired me to believe. After a series of close calls, I’d become immune to the possibility of losing her. Magical thinking.

It becomes quite a muddle for those of us whose lives have been touched by Alzheimer’s to figure out how to mourn. There are so many goodbyes along the way and many different aspects of our loved ones we wish to remember, both before and after the illness.

NEW DAY

There is a thinness to the air
A certain crisp elegance lacking
I walk from place to place
Noticing

There is a sparseness
A vanished plenty
Careening into my sphere
Pirating my wind

I turn to look
To see this new
Wandering monotony
Breathless

As a long-distance caregiver, I became accustomed to interacting with Mom on a more spiritual level. I relied on that connection and felt her with me at all times. When I couldn’t be in Maine with my mother, I was able to speak to her on the phone or via skype due to the extraordinary kindness of her caregivers.

My five-year old daughter and I were fortunate enough to have skyped with Cecy for an hour on Mother’s Day, the day before she died.

These remarkable caregivers called me early the following morning and held a cell phone to Mom’s ear so that I might speak to her as she died peacefully, the result of a sudden seizure. I am forever in their debt.

Writing poetry has been my way of understanding and honoring Cecy’s journey. Now that she is gone, I realize that I must find yet another way to connect with her. I am still Searching For Cecy.

Mom often wished she were a seagull. Perhaps I just need to readjust my gaze…upward.

THE SEAGULL

Like Nina, she wanted to be a seagull.
“No that’s not it…”
She wanted to soar, unencumbered,
Sounding plaintive calls for peace.

She wanted to be a seagull.
To live and die
Flying high above the coast of Maine.
Black firs silhouetted against mackerel sky.

Check out Judy Prescott's book, Searching for Cecy: Reflection on Alzheimer's. A portion of the proceeds from the sale of book goes to the Alzheimer's Association, Maine Chapter.

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Judy Prescott, born in Mountain Lakes, New Jersey, has spent the past twenty-five years working as a professional actress. Based in both New York City and Los Angeles, she has performed many roles on stage and screen. Her most recent work includes episodes of True Blood, Grey’s Anatomy, Cold Case, Bones, and the films Islander and Hit and Runway. Judy started writing poems as a child in order to better understand the world around her. She began reading her poetry publicly fifteen years ago in Los Angeles where she currently lives with her husband and daughter. Judy is the author of Searching for Cecy: Reflections on Alzheimer’s.