This past Tuesday was my birthday. I suspected that my mom wouldn't remember the date. Unfortunately, my suspicions were right on.
Apparently, mom walked dad up to the Dollar Tree over the weekend to buy some birthday cards for people she thought she had missed (she stocked up on cards at the beginning of the year). I was one of those people, although she seems to have no clue when my birthday even is! While I was over there on Monday, she asked me to show her what day it was on the calendar. I pointed to October 6th and said (in my preschool teacher voice),
"Today is Monday, October 6th. Tomorrow is Tuesday, October 7th. Do you know what special day tomorrow is?"
Despite several promptings, mom couldn't tell me what was so special about the following day. I knew better than to be hurt; I was fully expecting it. On Tuesday, dad tried to tell her it was my and my twin's birthday with no response from mom. The concept, like most others, is gone. My birthday came and went and while it was a wonderful day and I was spoiled by friends, family and my wonderful hubby, my mom had forgotten about the first child she welcomed into the world. Such is life with dementia.
I was reminisicing and trying to remember my birthday last year. I remember suspecting it could be the last that I'd have mom aware it was my day. I found this post about my last birthday with mom. What a difference a year makes!