As my mom drifts into another world via illness and dementia, I continually grasp to remember the mom she was as I love the mom she is now. This dementia road is an emotional journey.
Some of my best memories of mom include her singing in the kitchen or car, cooking and baking, laughing, having fun with her friends, shopping downtown, taking care of the babies, meeting lots and lots of new people, and much sage advice. Mom always wanted the best for those she loved, and she loved a lot of people.
Now, to me, it seems like Mom is doing everything in her power to be a good companion. She doesn't complain, she seemingly endures her discomfort, and more than anything else, looks forward to her moments with dad. She often says thank you when we help her out and smiles at you when you smile at her. When guests visit, Mom is most concerned that they are comfortable continuing her reputation as a welcoming and loving hostess, friend, and family member.
I've read a lot about dementia and I've tried many avenues of care and comfort for mom--some actions have worked well and some have not worked at all. It hasn't been easy watching the mom I knew drift away. There is the sadness of losing someone you love, and the sadness that comes with this front row seat to the vulnerability and brevity of life--why can't we live healthy and happy forever?
I've had my mom for more than six decades. I realize that's a luxury. Just last night I was thinking of one of my grandmothers who had lost many who were close to her by the time she was my age. I always wondered why that grandmother sometimes seemed sad, and when I thought about her losing so many that she dearly loved, I realized that may have been the reason, in part, for her sadness.
This morning I learned of the death of Nanci Griffiths, a singer/songwriter I didn't know of. Her songs are beautiful, and to discover her at the time of her passing is sad, yet to discover her now as my mom disappears, is a great gift of comfort to me. Onward.