The holidays are a tricky time for many people, for so many reasons. I learned from last year’s heartbreak to go into this year’s celebrations with zero expectations. The result: a happy Christmas with my mom, who smiled all evening.
Last year, I gave her a fleece blanket printed with family photos, and she had no reaction at all when I helped her open it. This year, I put my energy into making something she could still enjoy: Julia Child’s bœuf bourguignon, a dish we made together for Christmas dinner in 2010. It’s a labor-intensive endeavor with incredible results.
At 23, I needed my mom’s guidance to make it. It felt good to work my way through the steps we once followed together and realize, at 36, I am more than capable of doing it on my own. Her gift to me then, my gift to her now: a dish filled with love and endless patience, made richer over time.
The night ended in tears all around because we knew this might have been her last Christmas. I hope it was. I would have been ashamed to say that once, but I say it with my full chest now. Nothing good awaits. I would love for my memories of her enjoying this Christmas to be the ones that endure.
I go through periods where I’m unable to read about others’ experiences with dementia because I don’t have the capacity to absorb anyone else’s pain. Other times, like now, I feel nourished by seeing my darkest feelings reflected on the page. “Dementia sucks you in with a terrible centrifugal force,” Suzanne Finnamore writes in her new book My Disappearing Mother. “It puts you in the position of wishing your own mother dead.” On top of the emotional agony of watching a parent wither away over many years, the shame around having feelings like this is unbearable. I vow to leave it behind in 2023.
I love my mom and I wish for her suffering to end. I am a good daughter and I will be relieved when she dies.
Dementia is an endurance sport, and right now feels like mile 20 of a marathon. The toughest bits stretch far ahead; the finish line keeps moving, and a different pain awaits there. I will do whatever it takes to continue on, side by side with my mom.
At 23, I needed her guidance. At 36, I am more than capable. My gift to her now: a journey filled with love and endless patience.
Dev on Running 