When dad said mom has maybe 2-3 years to live, I didn’t feel much. I knew how I was supposed to react—at least when I’m around people other than my dad—with a degree of horror and sadness. People, I suppose have an emotional expectation of you—they expect you (or need you) to exhibit a particular range of feeling, regardless if you actually feel it……….. and if you don’t, you must be some beastly human.

I’ve just learned that sometimes you have to give people what they want………………….. I know what is “appropriate,” and sometimes in this vile game of life, you have to put out, so others will feel better.

Dementia is not for the faint of heart.

Confession time…………….. so hearing that my mom possibly-maybe-no-one-really-knows-for-sure has 2-3 years I’ll tell you what I really felt……………………………….RELIEF. Relief because in my mind, I had been thinking 5-10 years and I could deal with that. I accepted that time frame; digested, accepted, knew that I was in it for the long haul. Knew that a part of my life would be defined by my mother. I knew this. I was cool with this (or as cool as one can be)…………………………………………….

Learning that we’re maybe looking at 2-3 years, well, I felt hopeful. My mom lives a very sheltered life. The toll of her disease seems to be slowly destroying my dad. My mom is not the woman she once was. She is a child. Her vocabulary has been reduced to two words (give or take), “la fruta” and “Despierta America.” Her favorite Spanish TV show……. well, her favorite Spanish morning show…. “Despierta America” is new thing, but still………… try talking to a person who speaks only in “Despierta America” with “la fruta” woven in for good measure.

The disease has taken away my mom. It has made mush of her brain. She can’t function without adult supervision. She can’t leave the house unless she is accompanied by myself or my dad. She can’t drive. She can’t cook. She can’t read. She can’t write. She can’t work. She lives in a void. She does not remember you. She does not know that she has a sister or a gaggle of nieces, nephews, great-nieces-and-nephews and now a great-great nephew.

We have been told that we shouldn’t take her out too much because new places (new to her) can cause her to become anxious and ultimately became even more unruly. The excitement of Fry’s supermarket is just too much for her. Unfortunately, this includes her highlight of the week: Church. Mom becomes incredibly anxious to see the priest……….. She yells, she runs into the aisle, she disrupts Communion………….. I have felt her heart rate skyrocket as a result of just trying to get his attention in the middle of mass. I think mine does the same……….. holding back a flailing demented woman is just not easy—especially when she’s stronger than you are.

Another 5-10 years of this versus another 2-3 years………………….

Soak that in for a moment.

>>Flickr pic by Stuck in Customs

My cousin described my mom to me as, “funny and generous.” I don’t remember that person, but I believe her. People love  (or loved) my mom.