The First Law of Thermodynamics is deceptively simple: energy isn't created or destroyed, it just changes form. Heat becomes light, potential energy becomes kinetic, but the total amount stays the same within a closed system. It's a law about persistence, about transformation rather than annihilation. Lately, I've been clinging to this idea when thinking about Mom and her love. The way she expresses affection now is so different, almost jarringly so, compared to the reserved, practical woman who raised me. But the Conservation of Energy gives me a framework: maybe the love itself, the fundamental emotional energy, hasn't disappeared. Maybe it's just been transformed.
Looking at old photographs, I see Mom before Alzheimer's began its relentless rewiring. There she is, younger, sharper, her smile present but contained. Her love then was potential energy, stored in acts of service: the perfectly balanced checkbook, the always-remembered birthdays (marked by a card, rarely effusive words), the quiet presence that was simply *there*. Now, that stored energy often seems inaccessible. Instead, we get bursts of kinetic energy – unexpected, spontaneous declarations. Just the other morning, as I helped her with her medication, she suddenly grasped my hand, looked right at me, and said with surprising force, "You're my rock, Toni. I love you." The intensity was startling, so unlike her former self. It feels like the insulation around her emotional core has worn thin, letting the energy spark out directly.
Ken often sees me grappling with these moments, the mix of gratitude for the expressed love and grief for the way it used to be. He was there that morning. As Mom drifted back into the fog moments later, asking about breakfast again, Ken put his arm around me. "The neurological pathways change, Toni," he said gently. "Reduced inhibition means the underlying feelings might bypass the old, more regulated expression routes. It's like potential energy finding a new, more direct kinetic pathway when the usual conversion mechanism is altered. The source energy is likely the same, even if the output looks different."
His words spark a debate within me. Is this raw, unfiltered affection truly *her*, or is it just the illness speaking? Does the transformation invalidate the source? It’s easy to get lost in that loop. But then I start looking for the patterns, the consistencies beneath the surface. Her practical care then, her verbal affection now – both often emerge when she senses I need support, even if her perception of my need is sometimes skewed. The timing feels resonant. The underlying impulse to connect, to offer comfort, feels familiar. It's like recognizing the same amount of energy whether it manifests as the steady glow of stored heat or a sudden flash of light.
I remember how she used to mend my clothes meticulously, a silent act of care. Now, she might reach out and clumsily pat my cheek, offering verbal reassurance instead. Different form, same fundamental energy? Perhaps. It’s a conversion, potential to kinetic, practical to verbal. Recognizing this continuity within the change brings a strange sort of comfort.
The biggest shift came when I stopped thinking of her past reserve as an absence of feeling, but perhaps as a constraint on its expression. Maybe the love, the energy, was always there in its full intensity, but the system – her personality, social conditioning – kept it largely in a potential state. Now, the constraints are loosening, the system changing, allowing the energy to flow more freely, albeit erratically. Ken compared it to a closed system where the total energy is constant, merely shifting between states. The love doesn't disappear; it just shows up differently.
Now, when she grabs my hand or offers an unexpected "I love you," I try to bypass the analysis of authenticity and just accept the energy transfer. I meet her gaze, squeeze her hand back, and say "I love you, too, Mom." Sometimes I help her direct that energy, reminding her to tell Archie or Katie how much she loves them when they visit. There's a bittersweet peace in this acceptance, in recognizing the enduring nature of love even as its expression transforms. The energy persists, conserved across time and through the devastating changes of illness, a testament to the fundamental forces that bind us.