I
participated in the Walk to End Alzheimer’s last Saturday at Lake Charles' Prien Lake Park.
These particular types of fundraisers are ubiquitous
on any given Saturday morning. Associations for most any disease you can think
of have a Walk to raise money for research, a cure, and to help those afflicted
with the disease. I've often contributed to various such organizations, but I
never attended an event.
Until now.
Because now
it is personal.
Mom was
diagnosed with Alzheimer’s around three years ago. I remember refusing to
believe it. I was in denial. She’s too
young, I thought. (She was 70 at the time.) Her memory isn't that bad. With me living in Louisiana and she in
Pennsylvania, I didn't see her as often as my sisters and my stepdad Tom. So it
was harder for me to recognize the subtle changes in her abilities and personality. This is
me and Mom on her 70th birthday, July 2011.
By Christmas
2012, the effects of the disease were more obvious. But she was still “Mom.” I
thank God for my sister Lisa, who courageously brought her to Lake Charles in
May 2013 for my sons’ high school graduation. Her decline was undeniable at
that point, and yet, as we sat in the bleachers of a gymnasium for Eric’s
graduation ceremony, she was the first to spot him amidst that sea of blue caps and gowns. “There he is!” she exclaimed.
When I
visited Mom and Tom that fall of 2013, nothing could have prepared me. My sisters
and I had no idea how devastatingly bad things were getting at home. By the
following January, 2014, she was in a nursing home.
How did all
that happen so quickly?
I despise
this disease. We all do. We have no idea in what ways this is hard for Mom. We can't imagine. It’s
so hard for my sisters and Tom, who see her regularly. It’s hard for me,
because I don’t. Not only do we grieve for our mother before she is even gone,
but we fear for our own futures and those of our children.
Lisa wrote
all our feelings so eloquently in an email today.
“I miss so many things
about Mom every single day. I miss talking with her about everything,
venting to her, weighing my options with her, talking through my concerns about
the kids with her. I miss her every time we get together as a family
because she should be there. And I get so angry; the thing that
bothers me most I think, is that Alex and Emmett don’t get to grow up with her
as the grandma she was before this disease, because she is the most loving
grandma a child could ever have. That’s the hardest thing for me to
accept.
“This never ending
grieving is so hard for our minds to process. I get upset with myself when
I refer to Mom in the past tense, because she’s not dead and I feel like I’m
being disrespectful. Yet, the way she was such an integral part of our
lives is in the past. And the grieving never ends because there’s really
no closure. We still see her routinely, but this is a reminder every time
of what we’ve lost. It’s like a wound that can’t heal. It’s open,
and raw and still very painful.”
This is one
of my favorite photos of Mom, taken in February 2010. Before any of us had any
idea of what was coming.
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4 comments:
I am so, so sorry you have to deal with this. You and your sister have expressed it honestly. I, too, said goodbye to and grieved for my father before he left us. I'm praying for you.
Thank you, CHM.
It's very generous of you to help those in need. A lot of people have loved ones who are suffering from Alzheimer's, and though they are having a hard time dealing with it, they sometimes don't have time to help others who are dealing with it as well. It's so nice to see that there are people like you who are doing their best to help that cause. Thanks for sharing that, Angie! All the best to you! :)
Krystal Copeland @ Countryside Village
Thank you, Krystal!
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