Within a few weeks it became obvious to us both that Montana was our next destination. My sister Paula and her husband Rick lived there and they had been taking care of my mother who had been diagnosed with dementia a number of years ago and now the dementia had turned into full blown Alzheimer's. Paula and Rick were tired, exhausted from the constant care-taking of Mom and their jobs and taking care of their 'off-grid' property down a beautiful, untamed 9 mile dirt road in Northwest Montana. They needed help. We headed there.
Now, 90 days later- we are here. Staying in the loft of their cozy, comfy home. Enjoying fresh veggies, cool well water and the breath-taking Montana scenery that has been called "God's Backyard".
I work 3 days a week in a nearby town and the rest of the week I stay at home and take care of Mom. It's strange that I'm here, It's strange because Mom and I haven't been close for a very long time. A family rift had torn us apart and we hadn't even spoken for more years than I can count.
When I realized that this was to be our next step- our next stopping point...I admit there was a part of me that was hoping and yearning for a healing to occur between Mom and I . The child inside of me was peering through the "mom-shaped" hole in my heart that had been there for most of my life. The Child me was jumping in anticipation of finally- and at last- to hear my Mom say the things I had for so long, needed to hear from her. " I love you. I'm proud of you. I'm glad you're my daughter."
When we got to Montana, I was saddened to see that Mom's dementia had progressed way past the point of being able to have any type of meaningful conversation. I saw only a faint shadow of the woman my Mama used to be still remained. In her place was a frail, weak, little woman who was often scared of something she could never quite verbalize. My heart ached as I realized with a certainty as clear as the creek that runs through the mountains around us, the disease had taken her away, taken away most memories, names, faces and taken away any chance for the reunion I had so hoped for.
Yea, that healing? That apology? That returning home? It can't happen. It can NEVER happen. Mom rarely knows my name, much less that I'm her daughter. She calls me her sister sometimes but most times I'm just "that girl".
I know I will never hear those words from Mom that I ached to hear. The reunion won't happen. The child-me, crept back to her hiding place inside of me. I wept. I wept for the years that had passed, for the words we'd never said, for the happy ending that will always only be a dream. I wept for lost time. I wept for my Mom.
So here we are, caught up in a daily routine that is completely foreign to Steve and I. Each day the sun still rises. I still do my best to help Mom remember things- places- songs. We look at photographs and I talk about old times. I brush her hair and clip her nails and I try to love her as tenderly as I know how, praying that somehow she will feel how much I love and miss my mama. She loves to sing and laugh and be silly. We hug often and I tell her every day that even if she doesn't know my name or who I am- to remember that I am "that girl" that loves her. I am learning that loving somebody who can never give you anything back, someone who may not even know who you are- is a bitter but sweet experience. I am healing. My heart is healing. The child in me sees and knows and hears that truly loving someone means loving them without expectation or condition. I hope somewhere in my mama's fractured mind she sees me. I hope she feels safe and cared for and loved.
I hope that at some moment, some fleeting time - even if just for a second- the window of her memories will allow her to recognize me and to know that in spite of the bad years, the splintered time and the wounds that never healed- I hope she knows that in the end- I came. That I am here for her. Not out of expectation or duty or desperation- but out of pure and simple love .
I love you Mama, from "that girl who sings with you while we wash the dishes". I love you.
No comments:
Post a Comment