I Fought the Girls and I Won! (or how I wrestled my demented mother's breasts into a new bra.)

Why did I think my mother needed new bras? Just getting her to wear new clothes was a challenge and often times she wouldn't. So just what was I thinking when I marched her into the lingerie department of a major high-end retailer?

One sales woman was "busy" when I explained that my elderly mother with dementia needed to be fitted for new bras. I was embarrassed for my mom. Here was a woman who use to dress impeccably, and now her shirt was stained, her pants too short, and her bra had holes in it. Another saleswoman became available and as I hustled my mother into the dressing room she started to loudly protest. "Why am I here? I don't need anything! I didn't ask to come here!" Her protests can usually make me back down. I start thinking that maybe the task at hand is not that important, that my mom won't know the difference, that maybe it doesn't really matter. Why am I bothering?

I tell my mom that I am going to let the saleswoman help her while I sit in the armchair just outside the dressing room. At that instant, I am sure my mother is overwhelmed by the task at hand, she looks scared as I pull the curtain shut. I can hear the sales woman talking in a very soothing voice. She goes out and brings an armful of bras back in for my mom. My mom's sense of propriety survived the dementia. She doesn't get rude with the saleswoman, she complies. She tries on bras. She finds one that fits correctly. I ask the sales woman to give me a bag for my mother's old, holey bra and to take the tags off of the new bra she has on.

When I get to the cash register, I ask the saleswoman her name. "Lucille" she tells me. I tell her that for over a year I have been trying to get my mother new bra's, but have never been successful. Most salespeople don't want to deal with an elderly woman with dementia, and the new bras I bought my mom at places like Wal-Mart and Target never fit correctly or would sit in her drawer. I start to cry as I pay the bill, for a strangers kindness to an elderly woman with dementia. At the loss of my well coiffed, well dressed mother. And amazingly, Lucille starts to cry too.