The First Law of Thermodynamics. It’s a fundamental principle Ken often brings up, usually while contemplating the heat escaping his coffee mug or the effort Kola expends chasing squirrels. Energy, he reminds me, cannot be created or destroyed; it only changes form. Potential energy becomes kinetic, heat turns into motion, one state transforms into another while the underlying quantity remains constant. Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about that law not in terms of physics, but in terms of love – specifically, Mom’s love.
Growing up, Mom’s affection had a distinct, reliable form. It was potential energy, mostly. Stored, steady, expressed through actions rather than words. Love was the meticulously ironed school uniform laid out the night before, the specific brand of cookies always stocked in the pantry because she knew they were my favorite (though she never said so), the quiet way she’d sit with me, knitting silently, when I was heartbroken over some teenage drama. Her love was a constant, predictable warmth, like the pilot light on an old stove – always there, reliable, but rarely flaring up into overt flames. Her emotional energy signature was one of quiet competence and unwavering practical care.
Alzheimer’s has changed the form of that energy. Dramatically. The meticulous planning, the practical gestures – much of that potential energy storage is gone, the pathways seemingly blocked. But the energy itself? It hasn’t disappeared. It’s transformed. Now, it manifests as kinetic energy – sudden, unpredictable bursts of affection that can catch me completely off guard. Last week, I was just helping her put on her cardigan, a mundane, everyday task. Suddenly, she stopped, took my face in her hands, looked me straight in the eyes with startling clarity, and said, "Toni, you have the kindest eyes. I love you very much." Just like that. Out of the blue. Then the moment passed, the clarity flickered, and she was asking if it was time for lunch yet.
In that instant, my own reaction was a complex brew – a surge of surprised joy at the directness, the clarity, quickly followed by a familiar pang of sadness for the reserved, capable woman whose love used to feel so different. Ken saw it unfold. Later, he gently offered his framework. "Think of it, Toni," he said, stirring his perpetually cooling tea, "as the same energy finding a new pathway. The old circuits for expressing affection through complex planning or subtle actions might be damaged, but the fundamental emotional energy – the love – is still there. It’s just… leaking out through different, more direct circuits now. Less insulation, maybe."
It took me a while to truly absorb that, to see the continuity. At first, these sudden bursts felt almost alien, disconnected from the mother I knew. Was it really *her* love, or just a symptom, a neurological short-circuit? But as I paid closer attention, I started to recognize patterns, echoes of her old energy signature within the new expressions. The timing, for instance. These bursts often came when I was doing something for her, providing care – just like her old practical affection was often delivered in response to a need I had. The focus might be verbal now, not practical, but the underlying trigger felt familiar.
I remembered how she used to subtly leave a magazine open to an article she thought I’d like, a quiet, indirect offering. Now, she might grab my hand unexpectedly while watching TV, her grip surprisingly strong, a direct, physical connection replacing the subtle gesture. It’s the same energy, the same desire to connect and show care, transformed from a quiet, ambient heat to a sudden, bright spark.
Embracing these new expressions without reservation hasn’t been easy. It required letting go of the expectation that love should always look the way it used to. But there was a turning point a few weeks ago. Mom was having a particularly confusing day, and I was feeling tired and overwhelmed. She reached out, patted my arm clumsily, and just said, "Love." Not even "I love you," just "Love." And in that moment, stripped of all context and complexity, it felt utterly pure. The energy, clear and simple. I squeezed her hand back, accepting the transformed offering completely.
Now, I find myself facilitating these moments, encouraging her to express that kinetic affection to others, like Archie or the grandkids, knowing that the source is true, even if the form is new. Ken calls it reaching a new state of emotional equilibrium within the system. The total energy remains, the love endures, it just flows differently. Like potential energy converting to kinetic, the fundamental force hasn't been lost, it’s just putting on a different, sometimes surprising, but equally powerful, show.