…to Come to Terms With Her Mother’s Illness and Slide Toward Death

My mother has Alzheimer’s Disease.  She has had it for quite a while.  Now, when I look back, I see that her symptoms started in her mid-50’s.  She said and did things that, for her, were strange.  I didn’t think anything of it for years; I just assumed she was being her normal bitchy self.  Yes, my mother was a bitch.  At least to me.  I was her scapegoat for everything that was wrong in her life.  Needless to say, we had a difficult relationship.  I always knew that she loved me, though.  Our relationship is a subject for another post, though.

I first realized that there was something wrong when my mother made a comment about a “new” holiday throw blanket that I’d had for years.  She saw it every year and she liked it.  That year, she swore that she’d never seen it before.  The next year, the same thing.  Other little things happened in between but the blanket comments were what cemented the idea that there was definitely something wrong.  She was officially diagnosed in her 60’s but we knew it had been progressing for a long time.

A few years ago there was an incident at the bank where the police were called (due to her erratic behavior) and she was put on a temporary psychological hold.  We spoke to the doctors and it was determined that she could no longer live at home (with her husband).  While she continued to recognize him until recently (according to him), she stopped recognizing her children shortly thereafter.

I live hundreds of miles away so I don’t see her.  I’ve visited her town once since she’s been in the nursing home.  I went to the nursing home several times a day and she didn’t recognize me.  On our way out of town, I had to try one more time (alone, this time) and she did recognize me.  It was for about 30 seconds.  I will always treasure those 30 seconds of being hugged by my mommy, one last time, as I wept on her shoulder.

Today I learned that the doctors want to move her to hospice.  When I asked if her body is shutting down, I was told that it is.  I knew that.  I knew that this day was coming.  I knew this would happen eventually.  I knew that the time was coming sooner rather than later.  I knew all of this.  That doesn’t help.  My heart is breaking.

Mom is only 75 years old.  Her memory started going so early that she never got to know her (adopted) grandchildren and her only biological grandchild.  They never got to know her, either.  What the older ones saw was a woman who was starting to do and say strange things.  The youngest never got to see my mom the way that my mom desperately wanted to be as a grandmother.

Now people want to know if I will visit my mom.  Some say that I need to do it for me.  Some say that it is okay to not go.  I don’t think that I will.  My mom doesn’t know the difference.  She will not know that I am there.  She doesn’t even remember that I exist, at this point.  The only reason I would go would be for me.  But, I don’t think that I want to remember her that way.  I think that I want my last memory of her being our 30 seconds together with us hugging and telling each other that we love each other.

I’ve been missing my mom for a long time now.  Her body is here but her soul, spirit –  whatever you want to call that thing that makes her her – well, that is long gone.  She did the normal 180 degree personality change which made her nice, funny, and happy.  THAT freaked me out!  I thought that I would be okay with her body stopping to function since that isn’t really her, so I’m shocked about how hard this is hitting me.

As with all difficult things, I will adjust and get through it.