A letter after losing my Mother to Dementia
I saw you fighting the dementia. A part of you felt that if you ignored that it was actually happening then it would go away. I remember one time that you broke the facade that you were healthy in front of me. I was only twelve. You were sitting on the velvet green rocking chair trying to write your book. You kept rewriting chapters alway unsure when you left off. You look up at me and I saw the fear in your eyes. That you would not get to see me become a woman.
“Maybe one day you will finish my book for me.”
Your voice was filled with an emotion I had yet to understand.
“I can do that Mom.”
I pushed you away throughout your sickness. You were changing quickly and I was unsure how to adapt to pieces of my Mother slowly disappearing over time. You would reach your hand out for me. You tried to pretend that you were fine so I could forget that this nightmare was happening. I was paralyzed with no one to save me so I saved myself.
I disassociated to survive what I was losing. As I matured into a woman I would fly out and visit you in the nursing home. I held your hand tightly. I memorized what your fingers looked like. I hugged you wishing to freeze the moment so I didn’t have to forget what you felt like. You did not know I was your daughter. The dementia had taken the memories of me from you.
If I could tell you one thing now three years after your passing it would be this: I miss you.
When I feel my heart aching for my Mother I close my eyes and I hear your voice so clearly as you tell me “I love you.” You said that often without reservation.
As I watch my children grow I will teach them about the compassionate, loving, stubborn, resilient Mother that I remember. A woman who fought dementia to the very end to try and remain with her babies.
Dementia took away so many memories from you but I’ll remember for the both of us.
Until we meet again…
