Finding Peace

In the quiet recesses of my heart lies a private struggle that no one sees. It’s here that I keep my deepest heartbreaks. No one can see them here. No one can tell me I am being too dramatic or callous. No one can judge me here. It’s here that I hide my sorrow. I’ve buried many deceased family members here, including my own daughter. I’ve also buried two that are still living. My parents' ongoing dementia can often lead me to frustration. Dementia is slowly stealing away my mother. She has no idea. She doesn’t know she has dementia. She doesn’t know the heartbreak that she’s been at the center of for most of my life. Let me be clear: I love my mother; I don’t like her.

There’s a difference; you can love someone for giving you life. You can love someone who sincerely believes they’ve been a good parent. You can still love them even if they weren’t the best parents. However, you don’t have to like them. In some ways, the dementia makes it easier to deal with her. I realize that she doesn’t realize how sick she has become. I’m now her caregiver in an unexpected twist of fate that reversed our roles in life.On a typical day with my mother, I have to answer the same questions repeatedly. She can’t remember how to eat her meals. She’ll fill her plate at dinner and then look at it and blankly ask anyone near her, “We’ll, how do I eat it?”

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