Pendulum

From Wikipedia ...

A pendulum clock is a clock that uses a pendulum, a swinging weight, as its timekeeping element. The advantage of a pendulum for timekeeping is that it is a resonant device; it swings back and forth in a precise time interval dependent on its length, and resists swinging at other rates. From its invention in 1656 by Christiaan Huygens until the 1930s, the pendulum clock was the world's most precise timekeeper, accounting for its widespread use.^[1][2] Pendulum clocks must be stationary to operate; any motion or accelerations will affect the motion of the pendulum, causing inaccuracies, so other mechanisms must be used in portable timepieces. They are now kept mostly for their decorative and antique value.


One mechanism to control the pendulum is gravity.  But in using the earth's gravity as the force controlling the clock's resonance, considerations for temperature, atmospheric drag from humidity, and leveling - keeping the clock absolutely stationary and level - must be accounted for.

Mom moves within a resonant range with respect to her dementia.  Sometimes she remembers a detail, a name, a face, an instance, sometimes not.  To be sure, the arc of her memory's pendulum, along with the arc of her ability to care for herself, is becoming more acute, i.e., narrow in its range.  But, within that arc, there is predictability and a measure of peace.

The pendulum of Mom's existence is extremely delicate.  The slightest change will cause the arc to vary widely and lose it resonance.  Illness, changes in home life, events at FRA (Fairbanks Resource Agency), and the recognition of her decreasing abilities all impact the swing of her pendulum.  Of these, illness is by far, has the longest impact on her stability.  During times of illness, she is barely able to function.  Then changes in her home environment cause emotional turmoil for short, but intense periods of time.  She has been at tears when seeing workman outside that she does not know.  Recognizing what she has lost causes depression.

At each decrease in the arc of the pendulum, I adjust.  She is capable of far less than this time last year, dramatically less capable than when we moved to Alaska, and not recognizable as the same person who drove on her own, attended church, and cared for herself in Boulder ten years ago.  Yet within this arc, I still see my mother.  When her inner clock is stable and the pendulum's resonance even, she still greats me with a smile; her sentences are complete; she coos to her cat and eats well.  She sits up and watches TV, comments on the day outside and simply lives.

I am grateful for these days.