Dear Alzheimer, I hate you. You stole my mother. You came like a ghost in the night. A dark cloud that slipped under the door and plucked pieces of her memories away. Not too much right away so as no one would be the wiser. Just enough to torment her. Little by little, you stole them. Like plucking grapes off a vine, you devour each one slowly.
You stole her.
The woman who could remember historical facts like they were the days of the week. The woman who could argue politics better than the savviest politician. The woman who stayed up all hours of the night helping me with class projects. The woman who nursed me when I was sick. The woman who secretly brought me a snack after dad had sent me to my room for misbehavior for the evening. The woman who played games with me. The woman who took me to see movies and spent time with me. The woman who patiently listened to my never-ending prattle while she was busy making dinner. The woman who painstakingly sewed Easter dresses for me and then used the left-over fabric to sew dresses for my barbies. To this day I am in awe of how beautifully made they were and how they fit the dolls perfectly. The woman who spent time getting me ready for my first dance, spending endless hours looking for a dress and making sure my hair was just right. The woman who drove me to countless choir, band, orchestra and play rehearsals. The woman who went above and beyond on every party she put together for me, paying attention to every little detail. The woman who always made time for me, just the two of us. The woman who sacrificed so that I never did without. The woman who couldn't quite understand her over-the-top, eccentric and excitable daughter but tried her hardest to be there for me even when she didn't fully know how she could help. The woman who loved my dad fiercely and just as fiercely argued with him when he was being too stubborn. The woman who showed me how to persevere, love, laugh, give, hope, fight for what I believe and for those I love.
Mom is an introvert and was happy to let dad's charismatic personality take over. But she was always there. She was the one in the background who made everything happen. She might not have made the big decisions or stood out in a crowd but she didn't need to. She made everything run. She didn't need the recognition or the praise. She never cared about that. What she needed was to love. Love God, love her parents, love her husband, love her children and love her family and friends. She just needed to simply love and take care of her family.
Others might have looked at mom and seen a quiet, simple woman, overshadowed by the strong personalities of others. She didn't have a college education and she worked in factories and retail most of her life. People might assume she was just an average person with a mediocre life. People might think she wasn't strong because my father's death crippled her with grief.
People would be wrong.
She knew how to love. She knew how to be there. She knew how to endure. She persevered through pain and heartbreak. She worked hard and took care of her family. She knew how to enjoy each little moment in life and to appreciate those around her. In a world where relationships are as easily discarded as leaves in the wind, that is rare. That was a life worth living.
But you stole that.
You stole her ability to write her own name, to read words, to differentiate colors. You stole her ability to tell time until the clock was just numbers...until the numbers made no sense at all.
You stole her memories of dad, the person she loved the most.
You stole her memories of her parents.
You stole the memories of her children until she couldn't remember if she had any.
You stole from her the joy of grandchildren.
You stole my daughter's only chance of having a grandparent. Because of you she has never known the spoiling and coddling of an over-indulgent grandmother. There was no sitting at her grandma's knee listening to stories of days gone by. She never had the opportunity to learn from her grandmother's wisdom, like I did mine.
She doesn't even know what it is to have a grandparent.
You did that.
Alzheimer, you are an evil and sadistic creature.
Stealing little moments of her life so that she feels like something is missing, frightened and confused. At first is was fear and frustration. Little by little she slipped. Like a long, slow, painful fall down a dark, never-ending spiral staircase. Except this is nothing you can see. It's all on the inside. One moment, she is there, lucid and sharp. Holding my hand, she gives me words of wisdom and then, in an instant, she is gone. I can see her vivid green eyes cloud over and she is somewhere distant and trapped.
You trapped her in her own mind.
She can only spin, like a hamster on a wheel. Her eyes hold terror because she knows something is wrong but she can't escape.
You stole my mom when I needed her most. She wasn't able to comfort or give words of wisdom when I went through the worst moments of my life. When I lived far away, it was mom that I called everyday to go over my day and discuss life. She patiently listened to my ramblings and never complained or rushed me off the phone. Because she was my mom. When I was upset, she listened until I calmed down and wouldn't go until I felt better.
Now she can't listen at all. She cannot notice my triumphs or my failures.
She just is.
But you don't stop there, do you?
Just when I've accepted that she is gone. Just when I know that I am loving and helping a shell of the woman that once was my mother, you bring her back. Not much, mind you. Just for a fleeting moment she is there and I can get a glimpse of her. I can see her and she can see me. She can hear me. She can register my words and respond. She can love me and be my mother once again. Just when I am so glad to have her back for a moment...she's gone again. Just like that. On her best days she just gets distracted and recedes back into her mind. On her worst days she fails to recognize me any longer and looks at me with vile contempt, like I am a stranger who has invaded her space.
I wish I had spent more time telling her how I felt. I wish I hadn't moved away. I wish I had visited more often. I wish I had listened more and rolled my eyes less. I wish I could tell her that even though I spent most of my youth fighting her because she just didn't 'get' me, I understand now. I have lived through many of her same struggles, some of which we experienced together.
I finally understand.
You are an amazing mother.
You always were.
I guess I always thought it would get better. She would get better. My mom has always been there. She always will be. I guess I thought there would be more time.
There's not.
On one of her 'good' days, she sees me with Annabelle.
She smiles at her and asks, "How many children do you have?"
I answer and she tries to remember where her kids are.
She knows they're grown....
"I'm your daughter, mom."
She looks startled, "What? No..."
She shakes her head like she is trying to dislodge the cobwebs.
Moments pass.
Realization lights her face followed by horrified concern.
Mortified, she exclaims, "Oh! Oh my! I know...I know you're my daughter. I know you're my daughter! Come here, let me hug you..."
She gets up. Concern, regret, fear, sadness lining her face. My beautiful mother. Even with the extra age her illness has given her, she is still beautiful.
She gives me a hug and kisses my check.
"I don't know what has come over me...I can't seem to remember...you know...that thing...(she waves her hand)...
"It's ok, mom, you're just tired", I say.
We sit down. This time she sits close to me and pats my hand.
"I love you. You know that I love you, right?"
"I know, mom. I love you too."
We sit quietly for a moment.
She looks at me, "So you just have the one child?"
"I have children...I can't remember...they're away, you know. They're all grown up..."
It's like losing her over and over again.
In a thousand different ways.
I want to scream.
I hate you, Alzheimer.
You stole my mother.
Written by: Michele Svegliato
~ September 2019
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