A Mother and Son's Photographic Journey through Dementia

A story inspired by Tony Luciana.

By Vinuki VidharaPublished 3 years ago • 5 min read

A Mother and Son's Photographic Journey through Dementia

A Mother and Son’s Photographic Journey through Dementia on CBC

When his 91-year-old mother, Elia, moved in with him, he thought he was doing her a service. In fact, it was the other way around.

You see, his mom was having issues with memory loss and accepting her age. She looked defeated. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible, but when he was at his easel, painting, he would peek over and see her just…there.

She'd be staring at nothing in particular. She would slowly climb the stars, and it was like she wasn't the mom Tony grew up with. So much had changed….It was like she was a tiny, frail, old woman.

A few weeks passed by…..and Tony needed a break from painting. He wanted to play with a new camera that he had just brought. He was excited…it had all sorts of dials, buttons and settings he wanted to learn. So, he set up his tripod facing this large mirror, blocking the doorway to the only bathroom in the house.

After a while, he hears, (in an Italian accent) "I need to use the washroom."

"Five minutes, Mom. I need to do this." 15 minutes later, I hear, again, "I need to use the washroom." "Five more minutes." Then this happened...

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He had his "aha!" moment. They connected. They had something tangible they could do together…

His mom was born in a small mountain village in central Italy, where her parents had land and sheep. At a young age, her father died of pneumonia, leaving his wife and two daughters alone with all the heavy chores. They found that they couldn't cope. So a very hard decision was made…

- Tony's mom, the oldest, at 13, was married off to a complete stranger twice her age. She went from being just a kid and being pushed into adulthood. She had her first child when she was only 16.

Years later, and now living in Toronto, Tony's mom got work in a clothing factory and soon became manager of a very large sewing department. Because it was full of immigrant workers, she taught herself words from translation books. She then practised them in French, Greek, Spanish Portuguese, Danish, Russian, Polish, Romanian, and Hungarian, all around the house.

Tony was in awe of her focus and determination to succeed at whatever she loved to do.

After that bathroom "aha!" moment, Tony practised his newfound camera skills with his Mom as a portrait model.

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Through all of this, she talked, and Tony listened.

She'd often tell him about her early childhood and how she was feeling now. They had each other's attention. His mom was losing her short-term memory but was better at recalling her younger years.

He'd ask, and she would tell him stories.

He listened, and he was her audience.

He got ideas. He wrote them down, and he sketched them out.

He showed her what to do by acting out the scenarios himself. They would then stage them.

So she posed, and he learned more about photography.

She loved the process, the acting. She felt worthy again, she felt wanted and needed. And she certainly wasn't camera-shy.

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Now, with any Alzheimer's, or dementia, there's a certain amount of frustration and sadness for everyone involved.

This is his mom's silent scream.

Her words to Tony one day were,

- "Why is my head so full of things to say, but before they reach my mouth, I forget what they are?"

Now as a full-time care partner and a full-time painter, Tony had his frustrations too.

But to balance off all of the difficulties, we played. That was his mom's happy place. And he needed her to be there, too.

Now, she was also preoccupied with ageing. She would say, "How did I get so old, so fast?"

"How did I get so old, so fast?" on Tony Luciani

Tony also got his mom to model for his oil paintings.

This painting is called "The Dressmaker."

He would remember, as a kid, his mom sewing clothes for the whole family on this massive, heavy sewing machine that was bolted to the floor in the basement.

Many nights, he would go downstairs and bring his schoolwork with him. He would sit behind her in this overstuffed chair.

The low hum of the huge motor and the repetitive stitching sounds were comforting to me.

When his mom moved into his house, he saved this machine and stored it in his studio for safekeeping. This painting brought him back to his childhood.

The interesting part was that it was now his mom, sitting behind him, watching him paint her working on that very same machine she sewed at when he sat behind her, watching her sew, 50 years earlier.

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He also gave his mom a project to do, to keep her busy and thinking.

He provided her with a small camera and asked her to take at least 10 pictures a day of anything she wanted. She's never held a camera in her life before this. She was 93. They would sit down together and talk about their work later that day.

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This voyage of discovery hasn't ended with Elia.

She is now in an assisted living residence, a 10-minute walk away from Tony's home. He visits her every other day.

Her dementia had gotten to the point where it was unsafe for her to be in my house. It has a lot of stairs.

She doesn't know his name anymore. But you know what? She still recognizes Tony's face and always has a big smile when she sees him.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall on Tony Luciani

Tony doesn't take pictures of her anymore.

That wouldn't be fair or ethical on his part and she wouldn't understand the reasons for doing them.

Tony's father, brother, nephew, his partner and his best friend, all passed away suddenly and he didn't have the chance to tell them how much he appreciated and loved them.

With his mom, he needs to be there and make it a very long goodbye. For him, it's about being present and really listening.

Dependents want to feel a part of something, anything. It doesn't need to be something exceptionally profound that's shared - it could be as simple as walks together. Give them a voice of interaction, participation, and a feeling of belonging. Make the time meaningful.