Puffs of Patchouli
Photo Credit: @eyeforebony
My greatest fear is forgetting who I am. Not in the sense that I’ve lost my way or I’m trying to find myself, but literally forgetting who I am. I’m not a doctor or scientist, but there seem to be too many women in my family falling to this disease. It’s spoken of in hushed tones at family gatherings or mentioned with concerned looks as “that” family member enters the room. No one wants to call it what it is. I don’t even want to, until now.
It was something I didn’t physically see taking over the body of my grandmother and mother. They looked fine. They were always smiling and laughing, all while mistakenly putting salt in the cake mix instead of sugar. This isn’t the flu or a virus where we start to see symptoms almost overnight, and we immediately know to get help. This creeps into the mind and slowly eats away the memory of your first kiss, your favorite song, and the right word to call a spatula. I often wonder if you can feel it happening? Is it like waking up from a dream and trying to remember the details? Or does it feel like a slow drip of haze, and you can’t tell when it arrived? I imagine it as a cloud so far in the sky that you can only see clouds above and beyond you. You are surrounded by a force that doesn’t feel uneasy or looks intimidating, and yet it still continues to engulf you.
“ The more I listened to my body, the more I found out exactly what it needed. ”
When I saw the signs in my grandmother, I was just a kid. I dismissed all the times I was mistaken for my sisters or the repeated questions and stories as old age. I assumed this is simply how we age, although my grandmother on my father’s side was the complete opposite. It wasn’t until my grandmother, who was so loving and sweet to everyone, developed a mean streak. She would lash out at her children, forget to take her medicines, and eventually, it wasn’t safe for her to live on her own. That was the alarm that awakened this fear. I watched my grandmother morph into a different person, and although I loved her deeply, I missed who she was. I ask myself, was there something we could have done? Was there an event in her life that caused or triggered this? Why my family? Why now?
Artist: belchonock
In the age of dial-up and AOL, I did my own crude research. I queried Alzheimer’s and dementia and found out there was so much unknown. There was no cure, no real rhyme or reason as to why it exists or even a definitive way to stop it. As doctors came in and out of my grandmother’s life, no magic pill ever appeared, but similarities in patients became more pronounced. I learned that diabetes, stress, lack of oxygen to the brain, and even mini-strokes could be leading factors to this disease. Although none of these things affected me yet, it dawned on me that my family members all had these factors, and I could be next. African Americans are three times as likely to develop dementia or Alzheimer’s, so I reached out to a friend who is adamant about self-care and holistic treatment. I’m not the sage bundle, crystal wearing type, but I was open and anxious to learn anything that could help. She taught me about grounding myself and seeking what your body needs from natural and organic means. The more I listened to my body, the more I found out exactly what it needed. One of the tips I learned was that essential oils like patchouli, frankincense, and mint could help reduce stress and lessen the strain on the brain. Combining that with vitamins, healthy eating, and living was what I vowed to maintain so the cloud would pass me by.
“One of the tips I learned was that essential oils like patchouli, frankincense, and mint could help reduce stress and lessen the strain on the brain.”
The last few years with my grandmother were bittersweet, but I thought at least now I know what to look for if it happens again. Then, that same black cloud found my mother. It started with a forgotten word for a spatula. Pancake flipper is what she called it. We laughed and moved on. Then it was lost bank cards, wallets, and eventually her way home. No one saw this coming. My mother was a warrior. She was the joy, light, and peacekeeper of the family, and in an instant, we had no idea what to do. When I started to hear the hushed whispers of family and friends and concerned looks as we walked by, I knew it was true. I ask myself, how does this keep happening? Surely, we can stop this now; we’re more advanced, educated, and resourceful. Doctors visits, medication, and years later, but it doesn’t stop. Now, just like my grandmother, I miss my mother.
I refuse to fall to this illness. I will say that until the day the cloud comes for me. I’ll do memory puzzles, play scrabble, and keep a calendar by my side with all the bells and whistles to keep going. I won’t be silent. I won’t let them talk of me in hushed tones. No. I’ll speak out, write down, photograph and video every possible mediocre moment of my life, good and bad. My children won’t miss me. They’ll have every part of me, and I pray that the cloud passes them by. Until then, I will wake up every morning and spray puffs of patchouli in the air to keep my spirits up and ward off the cloud one more day.
If you enjoyed this piece, consider becoming a Spoken Black Girl Patron for more exclusive content.
Shaylon Scott is a native Texan from a rural East Texas town with a burning desire to make an impact in the world. She has effectively blended a career for the past 10+ years in the nonprofit and for-profit sectors while raising two children as a single parent. She has a Bachelor of Science in Criminal Justice from Wiley College with an educational background in Public Relations and Communications from the University of Texas at Arlington.
She has served as the Communication & Marketing Chairs for conferences as well as keynote speakers, panelists, and facilitators for a variety of state and federal opportunities. She has freelanced for the Dallas Morning News’ Insider blog and writes poetry, essays, and more in her spare time. She recently launched a new business venture called Book Mecca, an online black bookstore and platform for black literature and their authors. She is focused on showcasing stories from across the African diaspora and encouraging reading for the next generation. She is an avid reader, an aspiring writer, and has recently expanded her speaking portfolio. Her career is continuously accelerating and growing while she continues to learn new skills and reach out for new opportunities to advance and make a larger impact in her community.