Advent 2024: The Long Goodbye

Advent Day 12, December 12, 2024

Today marks the 10^th anniversary of my mother’s death. She died at 94 after a long decline caused by dementia and Parkinson’s disease which left her a “two-assist,” an impersonal term meaning that it required two people to move her from her bed anywhere else, even though she only weighed 95 pounds. She lost all mobility after the Parkinson’s came on toward the end of her life; the dementia had probably been creeping in a few years before we realized it. She also had failing sight from glaucoma that an eye doctor had missed two decades earlier. I watched my once independent, controlling, detailed obsessed, fiercely loyal mother become completely dependent, surrendering all control of a body and mind that no longer obeyed or made sense over to a handful of caregivers.

The last two years of her life were, for me, the hardest. My siblings and I were told several times that dementia is much harder on the family than it is on the patient, but how could anyone really know that? While Mom never forgot who we were, she mixed up information, thought dreams were true, confused us, and created fantasies, both happy and not so happy, about those she loved. There was no correcting or appeasing her because those thoughts were her realities. 

I watched Mom leave us slowly, while I waited—and waited—for the final release, even prayed for that release. Dementia has been called “the long goodbye,” and if you’ve experienced a loved one with it, you understand the truth of that phrase. There is a lot of waiting.

On this tenth anniversary, as I look back on that time of waiting, I feel regret, remorse, and gratitude. I hope I did enough for my mother. I hope I was present enough. I wish I’d been a better daughter, somehow, though I’m not sure how. I wish she hadn’t had to endure what she did, but letting go seems to be the only way home. We can either continue to grasp, and see where that gets us, or learn to release. As difficult as the waiting was, I’m also grateful for the time I was given so that I could learn more about compassion, especially toward my mother, and understand how little control I have over anything.

Now, my husband waits in the time of the long goodbye. His mother, my beautiful mother-in-law, has been in decline from Alzheimer’s these last couple of years, an even more brutal illness where she often doesn’t know who he is and has long forgotten me and our children—her beloved first grandson and granddaughter. He isn’t sure who he will be visiting each time he goes. Today, she slept through the visit.

Advent: a time of waiting which can often be frustrating, confusing, painful and lonely. So I write this blog to say if you are in such a place with a loved one, whether dementia, aging, or something else, waiting for healing, waiting for death, waiting for resolution, please know that you are not alone. For those of us who have had to sit alone on that cold bench, we’ve got you in our hearts.  And you, and I, and the one we wait with, are in God’s heart.

Blessings ~ Rosemary

Photo credit ~ Pixabay