Episode 5: Dementia, A Scent That Woke Mum's Memory

Full Transcript: English

Would you like to read this episode in German or Polish?
I’ll be glad to send it to you — just reach out.

Hi, thank you for coming back today, I hope you’ve found small ways to taking care of yourself in your daily ups and downs…we all have them, don’t we?

You know, if you’ve listened to the last two episodes,
you already know the setting…

I am picking up the thread again, the same thread…

It’s August.
I’m visiting my mother in Poland.
And we’re somewhere in between past and present —
between clarity and confusion, silence and scent, between acceptance, embracing even and denial of her Alzheimer’s journey

This episode is, again, a snapshot from that visit.
But this time, it takes place indoors.
An everyday moment. A slower one… I mean, slower than average …
A moment of resistance — and then, unexpectedly…. of joy.

That morning, the sun was already out. Bright and strong ….
But she wouldn’t get up.

And I don’t mean sleepy, I don’t mean that she was necessarily sleepy, I mean… not getting up.

Even if her eyes were open,
her body just wouldn’t follow.
She lay there, curled under her blanket —
quiet, unmoving, unmotivated.

Almost like I used to be, as a child — hating those dark winter mornings, when she had to go to work and I was forced to get up, still half-asleep, to go to kindergarten. I remember the heaviness, the resistance, the wish to just stay wrapped in warmth a little longer.

So, she would refuse to get up … There’s a word for that — apathetic.
It actually comes from old Greek: a- meaning “without” and pathos, meaning the whole spectrum actually from feeling, emotion, to suffering …
So she was like without emotion, without movement, without will.

And I know this is part of the illness —
part of the neurological shifts, and also the medication, its side effects …
There are phases in dementia, in Alzheimer’s,
where the system just wants to shut down.

So, I am sitting next to her with my cup of coffee,
and I remember thinking:
How am I to reach her now?
How am I going to begin the day without pushing?

Now, if you’ve happened to listen to the last episodes …
you know I never travel without my little set of essential oils.

Even if I’m just visiting for a few days,
there’s always a small pouch in my bag —
a kind of sensory first aid kit.

So I started thinking.

At first, I considered a specific chemotype of rosemary.
It’s one of the oils that can help gently lift blood pressure,
stimulate alertness, bring a bit of energy.

Even just a short sniff can give the system a nudge.

But then I thought…
No. That’s too sharp. Too strong. She never liked that one….

And… by the way — that’s another great rabbit hole.
If you’ve been following this podcast, you probably know by now:
we have quite a few, already.

But rosemary really is well-researched —
especially in connection with Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s.
Maybe one day I’ll dive into that here.
Just let me know if that’s something you’d like to hear more about.

But anyway — that morning wasn’t about theory, of course.

It was about her — my mum.

And about choosing something gentler.

Something her system might actually receive…

Something that would meet her where she was.

That day, that morning.

So I chose something gentler.

From our last smell training, I’d kept in mind that she really liked mandarin essential oil….
A specific chemotype, the a bit spicy green one …
Comforting, not overwhelming, fresh …

I took a sniffing strip, placed a single drop on it,
and handed it to her —
gently inviting her to take a quick sniff…

Just two seconds, I said. Not more.

And at first, she hesitated.

But then —
something shifted.

She brought the strip closer.
Inhaled slowly.
And then… she smiled…it was, you know, this honest, spontaneous smile you can’t fake …

Eyes half closed.
Muscles relaxing.
Breath deepening.

No wrinkling of the nose, no grimace, no pulling away…

You know that instinctive reaction when a scent is too sharp or unpleasant — the way the face pulls back a little, right?

None of that. Just calm, ease…

And she didn’t put the strip down.
She kept it close to her nose —
almost glued to her nostrils,
as if that scent had opened something
that nothing else could reach.

I asked her quietly,
“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she whispered.
And then again, silence.

But a peaceful silence —
not the earlier stillness of refusal,
but the silence of being somewhere else.

She stayed like that for maybe three minutes —
breathing, smelling, eyes closed,
fully immersed in something I couldn’t see.

And when she finally opened her eyes again,
I asked,
“Is there anything you feel?
Any image? Any word that comes to mind?”

She nodded slowly.

And then she said:
“Radość.”
Joy.

And she repeated it — again and again.
“Radość… radość…”
As if the word itself had a scent,
as if it was carried in the oil,
somehow waiting to be unwrapped.

Then she added something else.

“Rozleniwienie w fajnym parku na ławeczce.”
Which is actually hard to translate exactly — well I don’t believe in translation, anyway :-)
but it’s something like:
“That lazy, relaxed feeling of sitting in a nice city park, - that slackness I would even say, - yes ,that maybe the word…. on a small bench.”

And again — her eyes half closed.
And I could tell:

she was seeing something.

She couldn’t describe it,
but she was in it.
Inside a memory, or a mood, or a place.
And that was enough.

I didn’t ask more.

I didn’t want to break the spell
with questions or interpretation.

Sometimes words just get in the way, you know?

The moment doesn’t need to be explained, or overinterpreted.

It just needs to be allowed….

So, I was sitting two meters away, at the table,
watching her from a distance.
And I swear —
I could see the memory pass over her face
like sunlight shifting through trees.

And strangely, instantly
I had a picture in my own mind, too….

Of a park bench I know —
from the neighborhood she used to walk through every day.

My mum, She used to go everywhere on foot.
To work, to the shops, back home.
And she often paused along the way,
especially in summer,
to rest on a bench in the shade.

Maybe it was the same bench.
Maybe not.

But something in me felt what she was seeing —
or, at least I wanted to believe I did felt…

She kept the scent close to her for almost 15 minutes….

And if you’ve worked with essential oils —
you’ll know what that means….:

You don’t linger in a scent unless it speaks to something inside you.
This wasn’t about function.
It was about connection.

Something in her responded, kept responding ..
Something opened.
And for those 15 minutes,
she was not lost.
She was there.

And when the moment passed,
we slowly began the day.

She got up.
Washed her face.
Got dressed.

It took time, of course
But it happened, without pushing, right

And I guess what I want to say is —
this is what healing looks like sometimes.

It’s not a cure.
It’s not a breakthrough.
It’s not a big and flashy transformation…

It’s a moment.

A scent.
A memory.
A breath.

And the decision, her decision — conscious or not —
to rise … to rise again.