In her mid-sixties my mother began wearing a wig — her hair was thinning too much. She curled her real hair, pulling its edges from under the wig to make it look natural. People seldom knew that she wore that wig because she kept it clean, combed and positioned well on her head.

Most of her life, Mother took pride in her appearance. Aside from the wig, she maintained her red fingernails — a broken nail was traumatic because being a single parent with a job and two kids meant little time to repair it. Wearing makeup was a must, even when picking corn in the fields or cleaning the church for her monthly duty. Stylish clothes were essential. In the 1920s, Mother fashion-modeled on weekends to get discounts on the latest styles. Many old pictures showed her posing like some movie star.

But somewhere in her 80s, the wig started slanting on her head. Her chipped nails stayed chipped or unpainted. Her eyebrows slanted downward too soon and her clothes were mismatched. She didn’t notice anything wrong with her looks — that surprised me the most. Friends and relatives noticed her disheveled look and reacted to her differently because she did not look like “Miss Emily.” Mother felt the judgment and reacted with anger because she didn’t understand the stares of judgment (mine included) or the different treatment by friends. This unusual behavior continued for two years before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

As I became more responsible for her bankbook, her meals, her care, I also took responsibility for her looks. I clipped, filed and painted her nails. I arched her eyebrows and made sure she had clean clothes to wear. Eventually Mother began to look like herself again. I discovered it was my pride affected here — I wanted her looking good; I wanted her looking like my mother again. I discovered buying her clothes and making up her face gave me a sense of pleasure. Mother looking good made me feel good. Some people even claimed that she didn’t have Alzheimer’s because she looked so good. In other words, they treated her as if she were “Miss Emily” again. She responded by not being angry.

Eventually we got rid of the wig, and I bought zip-up dresses, but by then she was used to being dressed and treated like the “queen” she was!

However, not all situations are alike. When my friend Ann’s husband Ben was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she continued to take him to local restaurants. I noticed a normally meticulous Ben had spots on his clothing and his hair wasn’t combed. By then, I knew that Ann had “picked her battles.” Making her husband brush his hair or asking him to change his clothing would create anger and a battle she couldn’t win. She was brave enough to take him out anyway — an important step to making them both feel normal.

Emily Albera is a former caregiver and current co-chair of the Washington Alzheimer’s Walk and Education Fair that will be held Oct. 3, from 9 a.m. to noon, at Red Men’s Lodge in Washington. For more information, contact her at 252-944-3446 or albera@gotricounty.com.