The Secret Behind My 80-Year-Old Mom Planting a Rambutan Tree For Me

Every day challenges of living with a parent struggling with memory loss

Oops, my mom did it again.

She spent an hour delightfully picking out plants at a local garden center and then ran out without making a payment. It must have slipped her mind the moment she heard the church bells from across the busy street prompting her to take off, quick as a bunny.

This has more or less become a daily occurrence. One minute she is lucid and the next she’s gone with no memory of how she got there.

Yesterday wasn’t one of her better days. She was upset after I broached the topic of checking out an assisted living facility. This was despite my explaining to my mom that I was not ‘trying to get rid of her’ since she started having issues with her memory but instead, the intention was to explore our options since I cannot be with her year-round.

Her bad mood quickly escalated and began to veer dangerously towards paranoia. She soon started making outlandish claims that the staff at the assisted living facility were harvesting the body organs of the elderly and secretly disposing of the bodies.

Sometimes, she works herself into a state because of things her confused mind conjures up. There is no way I can try to convince her that it is not true because it only makes her more agitated and stubborn.

So, I did the next best thing and that was to calm her down by distraction.

Currently, I am visiting my parents in my home country and the rambutan fruit is quite the thing hereabouts. For those who don’t know what a rambutan is, it is a tropical fruit, reddish in appearance with soft spines on its rind.

It grows on trees and it is not surprising to find one such tree proudly gracing the front yard of many houses in these parts.

Having never tried it before, I was curious about its taste and told my mother so. She immediately became animated and decided she wanted to buy a rambutan plant for her garden.

Her thinking was it would bear fruits by the time I came to visit next.

It made me tear up. Not just because it was such a thoughtful gesture on her part but because of what the hitherto unpurchased rambutan plant represented.

By stating her intention to buy this plant, my mom, despite her outbursts and increasingly childlike nature, was indirectly telling me how much she loves me. She was willing to plant a tree, nurture it, and grow it in order to fulfill my desire to eat the fruit.

Never mind that it takes seven years for the rambutan tree to bear fruit.

I don’t think she paid attention to that little fact or simply ignored it. But that is not the point.

Instead, the point is hope. Hope that I will come to visit her next year and enjoy the fruits of the tree she lovingly planted for me. Hope that she will be alive and well enough to be able to enjoy our favorite haunts — the shopping mall and snacks served hot off the stove at the local restaurant.

Also, hope that the next time I visit, she will still remember me and all the memories we have created together from the time when I was a tiny baby in her tummy to the grown, independent woman I am now.

Unfortunately, it is a battle we are slowly but steadily losing each day.

And my heart breaks for both of us.

The woman who has been my strength, my best friend, and my strongest supporter is transforming into a stranger right before my eyes. Fearful, suspicious, quick to argue, delusional, and prone to cataclysmic meltdowns. Not to mention a sieve-like memory which is cause for constant frustration and bewilderment.

In an effort to make her happy and forget the unwelcome topic of assisted living, I took her to a garden center, known in my country as a plant nursery, where they had rambutan plants for sale.

It never fails to do the trick.

She became like an excited child let loose in a candy store. A long-time gardener and lover of everything green in nature, she quickly began selecting plants and peppering the nursery employee with questions.

It made me happy to see her in her element which is a rare treat these days.

But it didn’t last long. She found the rambutan plant she deemed perfect for her garden along with a few others before deciding on a whim that she wanted to attend services.

As for me, I admit to being momentarily distracted by an enticing lemon plant so I didn’t see her take off.

Fortunately, someone else at the garden store had seen my mom cross the road to the church. I quickly made the payment with an apologetic smile to the perplexed employee and went after her.

My mom was sitting placidly in one of the back pews of the church, blissfully unaware of the little ruckus she had caused. When she looked at me and her eyes lit up, I felt my frustrations with her melting away. So, I joined her in the pew without a word.

What else was I to do? What else could I do?

As I listened to the priest drone on, my mind went back to the lemon tree from the garden center. By purchasing a lemon plant for myself, was I hoping to preserve the memory of my beloved cat who climbed up the lemon tree many years ago and never came down?

Or was it to have something tangible to hold on to in the future, to be reminded on some subconscious level whenever I touch the lemon tree and feel its heartbeat through my fingers, that I too was loved deeply, unconditionally?