I've met some great people along this journey and one of them is Kim. It all started when I made a joke about dementia and she was highly offended because of her Dad suffering from the disease. She did not know that my Mother is suffering from the disease too. FYI: it's most definitely okay for us to make jokes about the disease but when someone else makes a joke it can hurt more than one would think. For someone else to make a joke hurts because they do not actually know the physical and emotional pain that is felt because of the disease. We, in a way, deserve to make these jokes.
Kim had sent me an email about dementia behaviors and talked about one question people tend to ask, "Does he/she know you?" What a multi-dimensional question that is. Yes, my Mother knows who I am, in a way. She calls everyone Meredith sure but she in her ways knows who I am. Does she know that when I had a hard time sleeping I would lay at the side of her bed and we held hands? No, not at all. I still tell her everyday that I love her even though she doesn't always respond. Growing up I would say, "Love you to the moon" and she would say, "and back again." I still say it but I say both parts. Even if it's my own imagination I feel like something in her twinkles a little bit when I say it.
I am constantly battling with my emotions. Some days I think I am ready to take on anything this disease brings my way and then there are some days where the smallest things seems to tear me apart. Mother started calling Kendra "Mom" the one day and I seemed to be okay with it and even made a joke about it but when she called me Mom I thought that I was going to cry hysterically. Making it through that moment wasn't easy but the next week when Mother introduced me to some of her softball 'friends' as her sister I just had to smile and walk away. She can't help it. At least she knows I am family and that she loves me, right?
To know cannot be simply defined; the dictionary even has several definitions for it so when someone asks me if my Mom knows me my mind races thinking of the different meanings of knowing and believe that on the surface level she knows me but as my Mother we have lost that intimate knowing years ago.
That was another milestone I remember passing - the first time my mother looked at me and asked me what my name was (and not in "which one are you" like she'd frequently ask my three daughters). And I said "Viki" and she looked thoughtful and said "I have a daughter named Viki." She didn't call me mom, but she did start thinking she was my sister at one point.
ReplyDeleteIt's like watching a sunset. Look away, and back again, and you'll realize how much it's changed, how quickly the light is fading.
(by the way, my 9-yr-old is named Meredith!)
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