My Mom My Hero: Alzheimer's - A Mother and Daughter's Bittersweet Journey by Hirsch, R. (mind reading books .txt) 📗

then answered, “I am your good friend,” as she gave me a kiss on the top of my head as she exited the room. My heart sank for a moment, and when she came back I responded with, “Mom, I love you so much.” She then said, “I love you also.” I asked, “As your daughter?” “Yes, Lisa, as my daughter, and my friend.”

This was pretty much how my visit with Mom was this trip. It made me realize that her Alzheimer’s was progressing. I was so grateful that my husband had come with me and that we were not staying at her home. I was able to spend six days with her, and when I left fortunately I had my husband’s love and support to help me cope with my mom’s condition.

While I was in one room, my husband in another, and my mom in another, my husband heard my mom say, “Is anyone here, is anyone here?” We answered, and she then said, “Someone please come here. I’m very lonesome.”

Monday, the day before we left to go back home, my mom seemed listless. She had no energy, nor did she want to do anything. Mom was not interested in anything as simple as even getting or giving hugs. As I sat at the airport the next day, waiting to return home, I felt my eyes filling up with tears. My heart felt quite heavy, and I experienced sadness as I wondered what might lie ahead.

The next day when I phoned, Mom wanted to know when I would be coming to see her. Although I had just left, she had no memory of my having been there. It’s ironic—I get upset when I see her, and I get even sadder when I cannot see her.

I wonder why after every trip visiting her I feel like I’m getting sick. I return feeling trapped and perhaps helpless. I feel helpless in the sense that there is nothing that I could possibly do to help my mom. Her whole life and existence has disappeared like it never existed. The thought that this disease can do this to anyone boggles my mind. Since it is my mom, it also breaks my heart in two.

I want to hold her and be able to protect her, a feeling that I share for my own child. Our roles have reversed, although I still get glimpses of my “real” mom. There are parts of her at moments that are still able to shine. Either way for me, there is a pang that still remains in my heart.

On Thursday my spirits finally lifted after I spoke to her. My mom was having a great day. She was alert, sharp, and sounding happy. It’s amazing how much lighter I became. I told her that she was my favorite mom. We both giggled as she then said to me, “You’re lucky because I’m your only mom.” It was only three days ago that Mom thought she was my friend and not my mother. I shared with her that she sounded so happy, and she responded that she is always happy. This was a blessing that I loved to hear.

I know that this may not last, yet I loved our conversation. I feel happy and excited, and I rejoice in the happiness that today she was able to express. It’s amazing from one day to the next how she can change. Surely what a difference a day can make.

COMMENTS

Thanks for continuing to write and share, Lisa. It’s a journey you and your mother are on. Many others are on the same journey relate to what you share. Merry Christmas!

—Martha

I really enjoy your blog. I hope you will find solace in keeping this journal. I appreciate reading about how much you love her!

—Sally

I stumbled upon your blog from Caringbridge on Facebook. As a med aide/caregiver in a memory care unit, I have the honor to take care of some wonderful people who become like family to me. Although we “see” what families are dealing with, we never truly “see” it. The words you write really touched my core. To get a glimpse of your feelings and struggles and happy times with your momma is a blessing. Bless you and your mom!

—Christine

I also can relate to your posting. My mother cannot communicate anymore, but I feel that visiting is so important at any stage of dementia. Even though she does not recognize me anymore, I know holding her hand and being there makes a difference. I grab what I can and make this a “good day” experience no matter how little a ray of sunshine beams down into the grey clouds of this disease. I wish you and your mom many more good days. Dementia is so hard.

—Elissa

Lisa,

Her whole life and existence will never “disappear” because she has a daughter like you, who will always remember and cherish the “real” mom. Sometimes I have to struggle to remember my “real” dad, and not the man who merely existed before his passing. But then I look at great pictures of him, like the ones that you’ve posted here of your sweet mom, and the good memories come flooding back. Best wishes to you and your family. Keep on keeping on. Yes, each day really does make a difference.

—Anonymous

Lisa,

I can completely understand all of the different feelings that we go through while on this journey with our loved ones. My mom is in the very late stages, is now having issues swallowing her food, and cannot communicate what she needs or wants, so I am her voice. This is a very horrible process to have to watch someone you love go through. But, even at this stage, I watch mama have really good days where I know she is aware that I am there. Then there are the days where she just stares off into space and I practically have to get in her