The Gifts My Mother Gave Me

I had a drink with a girlfriend this week who was telling me about her mother, who is almost a hundred years old, that she asked where her parents were. My friend had to tell her that they died, long ago. Her mother was confused. My friend has been down this path before with her mother-in-law before her death and although it is a bit different, my sweet friend is stepping up to the plate of mothering the mother, once again. I left our social afternoon reflecting on my own mother.

We joke in our family that dad, being Irish was the warm one. Mom, being of Scandinavian background, could be cold. She believed in everything proper, from manners, to dress, to lifestyle. A culture she learned by her own mother. My sister and I were taught these lessons and have thrown most of the ideals out the window by chance or by choice.

My mother and I had our trials as most do, in fact it wasn’t until my father passed away that our relationship took a turn from mother/daughter to good friends. And when we received the diagnosis that Alzheimer’s was the reason she was ‘having a little memory problem,’ our roles switched, and I became her mother. 

At first, we faced her mental decline with humor. When Zane handed me a phone number, she had taken for me, it was a combination of letters and numbers and more than a ten-digit number. I told him, “I can’t phone this person back, what the heck is this?” To which his reply was, “I know mom, I told her it made no sense, and she got mad, so I thought, she really isn’t my problem, she’s yours”.

I left work multiple times because mom had locked herself out of the house and was panicking. The problem was that she was calling me from her landline inside the house.  There was no convincing her that she was safe inside, she believed she was locked out. So, I would leave work and by the time I got to her house, all was forgotten. She would open the door with a big smile and say, “oh Janny, how nice to see you, are you here for tea?” Yes, mom, I came for tea.

When an old friend came out to visit, and ended up moving in, our relationship took a new turn. I felt more like a mama bear and my mom saw me as her girlfriend. One day, as I sat with her, she shared how he was able to perform but not “finish”. My jaw dropped. My mother the prude, the same woman who insisted we were never allowed to utter the word sex, asking me for advice on how to…I can’t even say it.

I needed help. I enlisted the services of the Rockyview Senior Care Centre, and a handsome young social worker became my best ally.  With his guidance and resources, my mother and I travelled the path of this debilitating disease together. She said to me, “I am afraid of this.” And I replied, “Me too, but you will not be alone. I will be with you.” It was not easy. In the end, mom was placed in a home, for her own safety. My brain knows that was the right move. My heart, to this day, questions the solution.

Seventeen years since she left earth, and I still struggle with my emotions from that period. I could not keep a sense of humor with the insanity of the disease. I was not angry with her; I was scared and overwhelmed and sad that the last years of her life were not recognizable by her. With Alzheimer’s, you lose your loved one twice.

I hold tight to the solace I carry within me, the beauty of her lessons as my mother. The joy to be with friends and family around a table of food and wine. The comfort of a home that is neat and orderly. The strength in raising a family and the courage to face great loss. I carry the lesson my mother demonstrated that we do not choose fate; it serves us and the only control we have is to face it with grace.