for two or three years she had known that her memory was slipping, sometimes she would whisper that something was wrong. she couldn't understand, she couldn't explain, she was often scared.
she gradually lost the ability to make sense out of what her eyes and ears told her.
sometimes she would react with anger. it was an anger she herself did not understand. the closets of her mind sprang open and fell shut, or vanished altogether.
her life seemed gone.
*words borrowed from The 36-Hour Day, A family guide to Caring for Persons with Alzheimer Disease, Related Dementing Illnesses, and Memory Loss In Later Life.
last thursday i drove hours to my sisters and together we continued on further south, to our mom's and the hospital. i don't know how to write a post like this. i know anyone who reads my journal thinks i either whitewash my life or leave things out. this is true. the leaving out part. (well, but everything that i do write about is 100% true) .
and so i struggled within, do i write about my mom and what she's going through, what we, her family are going through? do i burden another with my sadness? then a wise blogging friend who recently lost her dad told me it was too much a part of her life to not. so i'm stepping outside of my comfort zone and writing, it's too much a part of my life.
i miss my mom. i miss her so much. she is still here, even though she's really not. she's why i started my blog in august 2008. i was hoping she would love to see my writing, my kids (her babies she'd say). and in the beginning she did. i know i'm supposed to be happy for the time we had, be grateful and i am. but she's only 76, except for her mind, she's strong, healthy and beautiful. except for her mind. now my sister and i wish for her to have no memory at all, because this place she's in now, filled with fear, anger, paranoia, sadness and no comfort zone, is killing us.
driving home with my head swirling, tears falling, memories fading in and out, i finally saw the ocean as i neared home. i could only think one thing.
thank you god for letting some things stay pretty much the same.