Grief and loss…
This past weekend, my father and sister flew to San Diego for a family wedding. A close family friend and I stayed home with my mom. I had a feeling, many months ago, that my mom might not be able (or want) to attend the wedding given her condition.
Mom has Alzheimer’s which makes it challenging for her to do some of the daily tasks that we take for granted. She struggles with short term memory, dressing, bathing, walking, and more recently, feeding. During one dinner, I noticed that my mom was dropping food during her meal. She was trying to balance the shrimp on her fork but it didn’t make it into her mouth and, since she was seated slightly afar from the table, she wasn’t able to lean forward and drop it on the plate. It fell on the ground - I can only imagine she felt awkward and embarrassed seated at the table with 12 others who had never considered eating to involve a mechanical feat of hand and mouth coordination. Mom also speaks very quietly, possibly due to her constant companion, dehydration. She does not want to have an accident so she limits her liquids intake, which takes a toll on her physical energy and her cognition.
My mom confided that she had been suffering from a recent loss. As if the injustice of this disease, slowly eroding her ability to remember and take care of herself wasn’t enough - she had to suffer the loss of her independence. After a hectic visit to the local senior center, my dad was forced to sell my mom’s car and take away her license. She was a career realtor and knew the streets of our town like the back of her hand. She can still tell you the fastest way to get to Costco or Ranch 99 during traffic even though she can’t get there herself and she struggles getting into and out of the car. Despite her illness (or maybe because of it), she doesn’t understand why she can’t drive. She misses being able to go “here and there” to any new places that she is curious to visit. She grieves the version of herself that could drive, was a volunteer driver for the cancer association, discovered new homes for her clients to raise their families in and purchased countless groceries and delivered innumerable gifts to friends and family. It’s especially hard because she was such a skilled driver and she really valued her independence - she feels this loss so acutely.
Since my mother’s illness, I had unknowingly fallen into the familiar and comforting childhood role of “chief commander”, foregoing subtlety and nuance in favor of action and expediency. I felt the situation was urgent and there was no time to waste on feelings - delays could only jeopardize my mother’s potential recovery. My sister, on the other hand, regained her role as “peacemaker”, trying to reign me in and mollify all parties. In my mind, she understands everyone but nothing gets done. In her mind, I am a bull in a china shop and there is real collateral damage (emotionally); things may get done at someone’s expense.
The thing about someone like your parent dying (or slowly fading away) is that you start to think of your own mortality. After my father-in-law passed away, my husband had dreams / visions of himself as his father. It’s as if he became his father. I just finished reading an excellent novel about twin boys from Ethiopia. When one passes, the other doesn’t mourn him, he just inhabits him by making room for him in his own mind and person, without losing himself. He started to do things that his twin would have, knowing that it was the influence of that twin at that time. It was fascinating and I can see how we can still keep the other person alive, even in their death, by living like them. I’d like to absorb my mom’s generosity, kindness, consideration and patient communication style.
During a recent visit with my mom, she asked me if we visited my father-in-law’s grave often. I told her that he had been cremated and his ashes were spread in beloved places of nature. My mom only brings things up for a reason so I knew she had a message to convey. So, I waited until she shared more. She said that her family would bring fresh flowers to her parents’ grave sites and clean, sweep the area. They even brought dessert like cookies one time and made it a festive event. I know that inside her heart, she is preparing for the inevitable and she is guiding me on what would make her feel most at ease when that day comes. With that quiet request, I am adding “visit the grave site with cookies and flowers “ to “wailing loudly upon death” as my mother’s wishes.
