Saturday 21 September 2024

Ivy and I headed for the front gate this morning to watch the rising of the sun.  We found Ellen just arriving.  She knew that I'd be there, since this is the equinox, and since the sun would be rising in the east perfectly in line with our county road.

In reality the sun was rising just a bit to the left of that perfect line.  Ellen informed us that the equinox is actually not until tomorrow.  It was a spectacular sight nonetheless.  It happened at 6:40.  Also, just past being straight overhead in the clear, blue sky, was two-thirds of the leftover full moon.  It was big and white.  That full moon was a super moon, the moon being closer to the earth than usual.

Ellen started talking about dementia.  She says that Tim has been diagnosed with it, and that she can observe it in him.  The doctor says that January's loss of his wife probably triggered it.  I'm not around him as much as she is, so I haven't noticed it.  She almost made me wonder if I have it, because she told me things that I'd either forgotten or not known.

Aunt Peggy took care of her mother for as long as she could.  I remember that.  What I didn't remember was that Grandmother Lora had dementia.  That was news to me.  Peggy eventually had to put her in a care center.  She wrote to Dad and told him that she needed some money so that their mother could be cared for.  I remember Dad selling 640 acres of timber ground for $20,000, and of him sending that to Peggy.

"Well, her kids didn't have dementia," I told Ellen.  "But then on the other hand, I guess none of the boys lived long enough to have developed it.  Dad's three brothers all died before the age of 64, and Dad didn't have it."

"Dad was worried about it, though," Ellen said.  "That's why he was so interested in the mind.  He played games to try to keep his mind sharp.  And Peggy had it."

"She did?"

"Yes.  She announced that she was going to put herself in a rest home in the fall because of it.  Dad insisted that wasn't necessary, but she was adamant.  I could see her dementia coming, and had to be careful about what I did and said around her.  She died that summer before her dementia got too bad."

This was all news to me.  I think that my mind is still as sharp as it ever was, but maybe my forgetfulness isn't all attributable to the mental house cleaning that I do.  I keep the drawers of my mind uncluttered by casting things out that I don't need any more.  I've probably thrown away some good stuff with the clutter.

One of the things that I dictated to Marjorie on our trip is the following:

"Marjorie's dementia is nothing to be embarrassed about.  She is in good company.  Presidents Kimball, Benson, and Monson all went out of this world with that same condition.  So did Henry B. Eyring's wife.  He went to visit her every day at the rest home."