Last week I was talking to
my Dad when he said that he was going to speak with someone at Amvets
about his options should he need nursing home care in the future. As
horrible as this sounds I replied “But Dad, it's different with
you. Any of us would take care of you.” Our conversation was in
relationship to the decision to place my mother in a facility. You
can read into that whatever you like but the cold hard truth of what
I was saying is that my mother would not be afforded the same
affection or consideration, that in my opinion, my Dad would. I'm
sorry for that. I felt sorry when I said it, and I feel sorry right
now.
The complexity of the
mother/daughter parent/child relationship is so hard to navigate and
nearly impossible to be objective about, at least when talking about
ourselves. In my case I will say that my Mom, like all of us, was/is
flawed. She had issues. She wasn't perfect, and more often than not
her better self was nowhere to be seen. When you boil it all down,
she could be a mean and hateful person, especially to those closest
to her.
More than once she told me
the story of how when she was in elementary school a friend of hers
went to school dressed fancifully. That really embarrassed my Mom so
she wrote her friend an anonymous note telling her how ridiculous she
looked. Later the friend thanked her saying that she knew my Mom
wrote the note because no one else would have cared enough to tell
her what a fool she looked. Unfortunately that interaction formed the
very foundation of my mother's emotional and psychological
development for the rest of her life. From that day on she mistook criticism for affection.
Once when Zoe was little
she corrected me for telling Zoe that I loved her because, in her
words: “you should never tell children that you love them, they
take it for granted. If you say it then they might think that you
don't”. If she ever told me she loved me as a child I don't
remember it, but about a year ago, out of the blue, she said it. It blew me away. I joked with Larry and my sister that it must
have been the dementia talking but another part of me cherishes it as
a truly lucid and divinely inspired moment...her reaching out to me
knowing that she would soon be lost forever.
There are only two people
in this world (that I actually know) that I can honestly say I feel
hate for, and she is one of them. I'm sorry if that's too shocking,
it just is. I have owned it for a long time. It isn't 100%, but is
often visceral. The last time I saw her she was starting to decline.
My presence was a surprise and she shot me dirty looks for a good ten
minutes before my sister brought it to her attention who I was. The
next day or so we occupied the same rooms but interacted very little.
I tried not to let it bother me, it's just her way, dementia or not.
That being said, I find
I'm really and truly grieving at the loss of her. I realize she's
going into a great homey facility where she'll be well tended and
probably happier than she's been in a while. She will have more to do and lots of new friends to meet. Still, the realization that
the person who I used to know (and often loathed) no longer is. And
no matter what her short comings were, she was in a sense a pillar. I
think I will miss that strength for a long time.
Sandie told me yesterday
that our Mom's been playing with dolls. You can't imagine how out of character that is for her but it's how I want to remember her always. Maybe
Alzheimer's has blessedly robbed her of all the ugly and hateful
torment which had so often consumed her and has instead left her with
a heart of innocence and play. Maybe these last years will be truly
happy ones for her. I hope so. She deserves a little carefree joy
before she goes.
