There are so many things that SHOULD bother me about my mother’s Alzheimer’s. We were recently with our other aunt (Mom’s sister) that also has Alzheimer’s. It was interesting to discuss the different reactions among Aunt Evelyn’s daughters – Roxie, Donna, and Tricia. They talked about being broken-hearted when they are around their mother. Poor Donna could barely talk about it without breaking into tears.
Each time I’m around these reactions from people, I silently chastise myself for not “feeling” more loss than I do. I do not mean to sound cold-hearted. But rather, I look at this woman who resides in my childhood home, and I do not see many glimpses at all of who was once my mother. It is as if she is already gone in my mind and heart. This woman is someone else; someone angry and possessive. My southern-bred mother is nowhere to be found. This different woman is now a part of my life story.
I see reminders of her all around me. And yet there is an…..acceptance? – denial? – defensive wall?…..that I feel when I see those reminders or hear her speak in such harsh tones to me.
Some of the void can be contributed to the fact that many of the things that she held dear, are not equally shared by me. I appreciate them for what she loved in them; but they do not resonate with me.
Occasionally, however, there is something so minute that it grips my heart with the reminder of the person she once was……
…..her beautiful and exacting handwriting.
…..her attention to the smallest of details.
Rummaging through Dad’s toolchest of house repair odds and ends, I ran across this sweet bottle. To my knowledge I NEVER saw my mother nail anything. Never! And yet, she secured a place for the household nails.
I stopped mid-packing by myself and lamented the mother I once had………