I can still remember my mother, young and full of energy. She’d drop me off at school, hand in hand, crossing the street.
But back then it was her holding my hand, not me holding hers, and that made all the difference.
I had thought she’d remain that way forever. I had always somewhere deep down in my heart believed that she’d scare away any monsters from under my bed for as long as I lived. She was a strong, confident woman, full of love, beauty, and grace. I was always told by my aunts and uncles that she was the brightest of the four siblings. A high achiever. So much power. And today, it’s coming back, full force.
I recognized the woman before me today, even under these new folds on her skin, I knew exactly who she had been for me. The strongest handhold any person could have was my mother’s. She had guided me through the toughest aspect of life, shared her wisdom, and blessed me with her presence. But then it all changed. Entirely.
She began to grow old, and slowly her physical and mental being submitted to the natural cycle of life. No matter how
strong, bright, powerful, or beautiful you are. You can’t escape this cycle. My mother was no exception, though I would have believed she was.
And so my life became very busy, work, children, responsibilities and commitments. All to make ends meet. I had
forgotten about my aging mother, and when she could no longer live on her own, she had to move in with me. I happily welcomed her, remembering the comfort of seeing her face every time I was in desperate need of support. It was as if she made all of my problems disappear. This wasn’t the case this time around though.
She needed me. She had developed a series of chronic conditions, one of which was Alzheimer’s. All of a sudden, it wasn’t so easy and doable anymore. My husband and children needed my time. I had to make ends meet. If I didn’t go out to work, we’d barely be able to survive this race. And then there was my mother too. I tried my best to manage everything and keep my mother too. But her condition kept escalading. 7 years later, here I am standing at the front door of the Alzheimer’s Senior Home at the recommendation of our Family Health Team. It’s the only way they said. And I knew they were right, I was getting very tired. Tired of my own mother. It felt so wrong, so betraying.