I wish I had been aware a decade ago of the impending changes that Alzheimer’s disease would bring to my relationship with my mother. On Mother’s Day 2010, I found myself enjoying a lavish seafood brunch in Chicago with my mom. At that point, I was a single mother in the Loop, juggling work and raising my two-year-old daughter. My mom made the journey from Indiana every Friday to help care for her granddaughter, allowing me to save on childcare expenses.
This particular Mother’s Day, I invited her to extend her visit through Sunday, relishing the idea of having her all to myself. I planned to treat her to Shaw’s Crab House, a favorite spot of ours where I had longed to try the famous Sunday brunch. As we shared coffee at the table, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction and companionship.
I insisted on covering the brunch bill, despite her protests, marking a pivotal moment in our relationship. For the first time, we felt more like equals. Growing up, we had a nurturing bond, but it lacked the closeness that many of my friends shared with their mothers. We never discussed boys or friendships, and I often made significant decisions, like my prom dress, independently.
Fast forward to 2010: As my friends began to drift from their mothers, I felt as if my mother and I were finally connecting. But that connection was fleeting.
The Decline of Memory
I first noticed something was off during a visit after my youngest daughter was born in 2014. Living in Florida with a blended family of five children, I noticed my mom appeared agitated and lost during her visit. On one occasion, she wandered off with my youngest and seemed bewildered when she realized she didn’t know where she was.
During a trip to San Francisco in 2016, my mom came to help while I was working. By the first day, my husband texted to express concern about her confusion. She repeatedly asked when my dad would come to “pick her up” and seemed happiest only when doing dishes—repeating the task while apologizing for doing it incorrectly.
When I returned home, I attempted to engage her with my kids, but she was distant and uninterested. This was hard for the children, who had always enjoyed their time with their Grandma. We told them that Grandma needed some space, which was difficult for them to understand. It would take another three years before her Alzheimer’s diagnosis became official, bringing a mix of emotions to our family.
While it was painful, having a diagnosis provided some clarity. We could now focus on learning more about the disease and how to navigate this new reality.
The Reality of Alzheimer’s
As I delved into research, I quickly realized how little I understood about Alzheimer’s and dementia. One shocking fact was that Alzheimer’s is just one form of dementia, the most common type, but not all dementia patients have Alzheimer’s.
Another revelation was that Alzheimer’s can be fatal. I had naively thought of it as merely a memory thief, not realizing it could ultimately lead to death. According to the CDC, Alzheimer’s ranks as the sixth leading cause of death in the U.S., with more people dying from it than from breast and prostate cancers combined. Projections suggest that by 2050, over 13 million Americans will be living with Alzheimer’s or another form of dementia.
Patients diagnosed while physically healthy can live for up to 15 or even 20 years. However, the disease gradually impairs brain function, ultimately shutting down essential bodily functions. My mom was just 65 when diagnosed, but we suspect she had been experiencing symptoms for at least five years.
The fear of this disease looms over me personally, knowing that my mother’s diagnosis mirrors that of her own mother. I often wonder how much time I have before this disease reaches me. Various studies suggest that stress in middle age may trigger early stages of Alzheimer’s, while others point to a Mediterranean diet as a protective factor. However, there is no definitive answer to prevention or a cure.
I question whether I will be able to recognize my grandchildren or if I will have the cognitive ability to engage with them. I ponder my unfinished projects and if I will leave behind a legacy that I can be proud of. I strive to make the most of my time by eating healthier, exercising daily, and prioritizing family moments. I focus on gratitude and cherish quiet moments.
I am determined to know my grandchildren, and I am fighting for that. As for my mom, her medication seems to alleviate some symptoms, and she often appears content. Our family is learning to adjust to this new normal, each of us grieving in our way.
For me, the grief stems from unrealized moments—future Mother’s Day brunches that will never happen. Yet, within this grief lies a powerful realization: time is not infinite. The moments we have now are the ones that truly matter.
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In summary, Alzheimer’s disease drastically altered the dynamics of my relationship with my mother, revealing the fragility of time and the importance of cherishing every moment.
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