Before I met Alzheimer's up close and personal I had never thought about the word confabulation. There was truth and untruth and that was final. Nowadays confabulation is one of my Mother's best survival tools. Her life is no longer logical. There is no reason for her to be in a long term care facility because she is not sick. She cannot remember that she cannot remember. There was no reason for people to send get well cards when she broke her hip because unless she tried to move she could not recall breaking her hip.
Her memory is broken but her mind is still amazingly agile. She can explain every small detail even when no explanation needed or asked for. A few weeks ago she showed me a small stuffed cat in her room and related how she had recently sewn it to keep her company while Dad drives taxi. She no longer of course, has a sewing machine.
As you can see from the pictures, in her former life Mom was more than capable of sewing a stuffed animal. In fact she could look at a picture of any animal and come up with a pattern to make it. At our house the sewing machine was only ever put away a few hours before midnight on Christmas eve, when all the Christmas gifts were sewn and church pageant gowns complete.
Mom tried in vain to teach me how to sew. "Who will do your sewing when I am gone?"
Now that it's too late, of course I am learning how to sew. I applique flowers on her blouses to make them seem more like something she would have made. A few weeks ago when someone complimented her on a flower that I had sewn on her shirt, she smiled and took full credit for sewing it on. That made me feel good, because confabulation is how my Mother makes sense of life. It would make no sense that I sewed it on. Ruthe doesn't sew!
I look around her and see other folks that are far more anxious than Mom. I don't care that she is not telling the "real" truth, I am just grateful that she still has the ability to fill in the blanks in a way that brings her peace.
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