Happy Birthday, Mom

Next week my mom will turn 95. I will not be there. For a purely selfish reason that I am ashamed to admit: I can't handle the fact that she no longer knows who I am. I've watched her decline for the last several years. But no matter how impaired she had gotten, she still knew me.

For the last 10 years or so I had been visiting every year. As the years went on, every time I got back on the plane, I wondered it it had been our last visit. For the last 3 years, I've been going twice a year, to give my caregiver brother a few days respite. The decline was striking each time. But even the home health nurses would comment about how happy she seemed that I was there. When I was there, she never had the episodes of agitation that my brother had to help her through.

It was my pride that made me believe that our relationship was so strong that even Alzheimer's couldn't destroy it. I was so certain that I was the special daughter who would cause her to break through her dementia and remember me until the very end.

The last time I saw her my illusions shattered and my heart broke. I am now the keeper of memories, not only of mine, but of hers, and of ours together. And there is no one to share them with.

My brother has hired an excellent aid who comes as needed. He no longer is so chained to the house that he needs the few days off twice a year that I was able to give him. My coming now would be simply to visit my mom. And I can't do it. Maybe that makes me a bad daughter. Maybe that makes me a selfish person. All I know is, I'm not strong enough.

I love my mom. I hate that everything that made her who she is is lost to her. I miss her so much. I miss her laugh, I miss her voice, I miss her telling me she loves me. I hate that her home is full of her memento's that she gathered during her travels, but she doesn't remember that she used to travel. I hate that her walls are full of photos of people who love her, but she can't remember the love.

I will mourn her death. I will be sad when she dies. But I know she will be in heaven with all her memories and abilities. But I don't know if I will miss her any more than I already do.

I hate Alzheimer's.