When it comes to dementia and demented events, there are very few things that actually disturb me anymore…………….. or, I should say, disturb me for extended periods of time. After all, I’ve been dealing with my mother’s decline for eight years or 2,920 days…………………………….. that’s a long time to get used to the grotesque. And everything about dementia is grotesque. I’ve seen things, heard things, smelled things that no child should ever have to experience……………… and no matter how old you are, those wounds, that trauma that bombards your nervous system, your psyche, never goes away…………………… it may get dull with time, but it never goes away for good.

I remember when my mom was taken to the ER before her month-long stint at the geriatric psych unit, and they had to test her for a UTI by inserting something into her urethra…………… but they couldn’t give her anything for the discomfort and I couldn’t explain what was about to happen because she no longer understood my words. The nurses made me leave the room; I could hear her screaming from down the hallway…………………… I think I almost threw-up, crying, feelings of guilt, regret, contempt, anger, fear consuming me alive……………… and then they were done, she was OK; still, those are the scars that never go away; but you have to endure, you have to get through it, you have to put it behind you, you have to prepare for the next trauma because it’s how you survive……………….. it’s the only way you survive……………… it’s the only way to keep yourself from cracking.

Thankfully (although I never hold my breath…….. glass half-empty, remember?), we’ve found some peace lately……………… her new home has had a calming effect on both of us…….. of course, as her disease progresses, her ability to figure out who I am comes and goes…………………. most days, she knows me or at least knows my face…………………. she smiles, she yells, and, in this case, that’s a good thing because it means she knows I’m someone important in her life………………. I hope she knows I am her daughter. I like to think she does.

But we’ve had a few days where she just stares at me.

I accept the fact that a day will come when she will no longer react to my presence. I accept that and I don’t think it will crush me………………. that’s how this disease works. I can’t change that. I can’t stop it.

I have to accept it and move on. I think I have.

I have prepared myself for that………….. truly.

I had not, however, prepared myself for what happened the other day.

I went to visit my mom one morning and she was especially alert……………. these are great days because they are so infrequent. We walked, sat, “talked,” held hands, hung out……………….. it was finally time for me to leave, so I took her to one of the rooms so she could cool off and watch TV. She walked in, turned around and saw me walking away towards the nurses station……………..

She started to follow me.

This is not an especially unusual event………………. she’s tried to follow me before; tries to catch-up………………. a heartbreaking act in itself……….. but most times, she either goes in another direction or is redirected.

As I walked out of the main building, towards my car, I looked inside………………… bars dividing us………………. she stared at me. I stopped. She stopped. Eyes locked………..eyes-wide open. Was that in my head? Does she see me? Does she know? Has the cloud lifted? Is she thinking, “Where am I? Why am I here? Why is my daughter out there? Why is she leaving me here?”

I got into my car and drove to Starbucks.

Because copious amounts of coffee help me unwind.

>>Photo by Meredith Farmer