Hey friends, I had a chat with my mom today, and I know many of you probably did the same with yours. It’s usually a simple, everyday thing—like deciding what to wear or grabbing a snack. But lately, I haven’t had a genuine conversation with her in a long time.
She didn’t sugarcoat it. I greeted her, and she bluntly said she might not recognize me tomorrow. Those words hit me hard, and I found myself sitting on the cold kitchen floor, phone pressed against my ear, fighting back tears. I reassured her that she would always know me, that she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, and that she’s faced tougher challenges in her life.
She told me she loved me at least three times, as if it might be the last time she could say it. I echoed her sentiments, knowing she might not hear those words again.
I’ve kept all her voicemails. Friends often complain that they can’t leave messages because my inbox is full, and I joke about being too lazy to delete them, but that’s not it at all. I hold onto those messages because one day, they might be all I have left of her.
The thought of losing her haunts me. The mother I know today is already different from the one I knew just a few years ago. Each year brings new challenges, and I dread the idea of her forgetting who I am—or worse, who she is.
Glenn Campbell’s song “I’m Not Gonna Miss You” comes to mind, especially the heart-wrenching line, “I’m still here, but yet I’m gone.” It makes me think of the day when I visit her, and she doesn’t know my name or recognize my face; that thought shatters me.
What’s even more heartbreaking is the idea that one day, she won’t remember her life. She might forget her five kids, her love for making friends wherever she goes, and her unmatched sense of humor. There’ll be no recollection of her childhood adventures, her first kiss, or the joy of dancing with my dad. She won’t remember tucking me in at night, telling me to be brave for kindergarten, or whispering that I should always put myself first.
The scariest part? She might feel lost and frightened, and who will comfort her when she doesn’t recognize anyone, not even herself? There’s a song that a friend introduced me to, and every time it plays from my music library, it brings me a strange sense of peace. I wish I could be there for her, to let her know that no matter what, I’m always here. I hope that when she’s in that dark place, she can just “be still and know.”
If you’re going through something similar, you’re not alone. There are groups, like the one at Make a Mom, where you can connect with others experiencing the same challenges. If you’re considering at-home insemination, check out Make a Mom’s reusable kits, which are a great option for those looking to start a family. They explain how their process works here. You can also explore their BabyMaker kit for a comprehensive solution. For anyone facing fertility issues, Drugs.com offers valuable support and resources.
In summary, this journey with my mom is filled with fear and uncertainty, but I hold onto the moments we have and the hope that she will always feel my love, no matter her circumstances.
Leave a Reply