Sometimes I talk to my Mom; my old Mom; my fierce and fabulous, social justice warrior Mom. She listens to me talk all about work and the clients I’ve interacted with. She gives me tips and tricks of how to deal with difficult people. She asks about my colleagues; if Sara is liking her new job or how Tristan is making out in Cape Breton. She asks about the kids — all grown up now. And laughs when I share the crazy antics of Ben and Olivia’s “twin trip” to the US last month. She shares stories of her own travels – of bumming around Europe for 3 months with her sister and her friend in the 60s; of her trip to Mexico to supervise the election there; of our various family trips – to California, to the Dominican Republic, ski trips to Quebec and Newfoundland and our annual excursions to PEI. She asks me what I’m reading these days and scolds me for not having at least 2 books on the go. She asks me about Joan’s siblings and nieces and nephews – and the GRAND nephews!! She asks about Jody and Valerie and Heidi and Mark and Tommy. She asks about our cousins who have become so much more than cousins… And all the while, I happily tell her about all of it.
Then she takes my hand and asks how I’m doing, really, with the compassion and understanding that only a mother could show. And then I’m sobbing uncontrollably as I try to let everything go; knowing that I can’t lie to her or pretend everything is fine. And just like that, every single time, the spell is broken, and Old Mom is no longer there. I’m alone in the car again, on my commute to New Glasgow for work. And I feel more alone than ever. You’d think I’d learn to control my imagination so that I wouldn’t inevitably wind up with mascara smudged down my face. But those brief moments with Old Mom outshine even that utter devastation at the broken spell. I can’t help myself.
At that point in my commute, I add more guilt and shame and criticism to myself. I have many friends who have lost their Moms and/or Dads. And here I am heartbroken because she isn’t who I want or maybe need her to be. Suck it up, Princess. You are blessed to still have your parents. Appreciate every minute; every phase; every era.
And then the justifications start. Of course I do appreciate them, but….Of course I love who they are today, wholly and completely, but….
“But WHAT?”, I scream at myself. And then the real ‘inner work’ begins…
It is perfectly normal and okay to desperately miss my parents and who they were before their brains got sick. It is perfectly normal and okay to mourn the loss of who they were and what they stood for before their brains got sick. It is perfectly normal and okay to love and care for the parents of today, while still being heartbroken that the parents of yesteryear are no longer around.
It is also perfectly normal and okay to desperately miss who *I* was before my parents brains got sick. I used to laugh a lot. And sing. And spend time being foolish with my friends. I miss friends. I don’t have time in the day for me, let alone for friends or other family. I miss books and movies and tv. I miss cleaning my house; scrubbing my floors; tending to my plants. I miss drives. I miss spontaneity. I miss being able to make a plan and stick to it. I miss nature and reconnecting to myself in nature when I lose my way. I miss traveling. I miss weekends away. I miss concerts. I miss festivals. I miss shopping. I miss visiting. I miss hair appointments. I miss painting my nails. I miss baking. I miss being the adventurous friend. I miss the beach. I miss being invited to do things with friends; when you have to say no so many times, people stop asking. I miss dinners out. I miss leisurely grocery shopping. I miss carefree me who didn’t have to worry 24/7. I miss lunches with the girls. I miss phone calls with loved ones. I miss Christmas movies and decorating. I miss volunteering and feeling a part of something bigger than myself. I miss not having ownership of my own time. I miss time with my husband; time that isn’t just spent with him being my rock in this chaotic world.
A part of me is ashamed that I selfishly miss my pre-dementia life.
A part of me is resentful when others can’t step up like I’ve been forced to.
A part of me is critical when people who claimed to be lifelong friends no longer care.
And then I force myself to focus on the good. My mother is still kind and generous and I have the great privilege of spending time with her every single day. My father is still capable of helping with her and driving and making breakfasts and puttering around the shop doing little odd jobs for us. And again I have the great privilege of spending time with him every single day.
My mother gets excited by anything pink or sparkly. There’s not a child or an infant that doesn’t receive instant love at first site from her. She loves to dance and sing.
My father gets excited by politics and the Blue Jays. He loves new clothes and good TV. He loves to dance.
And both of these new versions of my parents? They love and depend on this new version of me.
There will come a day when they won’t rely on me so much. It’s something I pray for; and something I dread. It’s the complete opposite of having your own children…because the day they no longer need me is the day their brains no longer have capacity to remember anything of what they once were.
I often say, if we all threw our problems into a big heap in the middle of the floor, we’d all pretty quickly snatch our own from the pile! So onwards and upwards with the help and support of good caregivers; with my good husband; and with all of you who help me shoulder this very heavy season. I would not be alive without your support and I mean that very literally. And a special thanks to D for gifting me this hour this afternoon to put my thoughts together….
Dandelion Wishes 