Adukuri Jagannath Rao

…that somehow in my mother’s heart-wrenching decline, she has managed to retain the ability to laugh. We aren’t always sure what she is laughing at, but it is always contagious and we savor every moment. I once read that laughter springs from the same deep place as our tears. A deep, instinctual response, conveying a powerful message to those around us. Perhaps her laughter is so medicinal because in those moments, my ever-lingering fears about what she is thinking or feeling are silenced. Our laughter leaves little space for worry while it fills every corner of the room. And as her speech continues to fade, I’m infinitely grateful that laughter remains a language in whi…

…for a reason” or “Don’t worry, God is in control.” It so happens that I am not one of those people. If everything happens for a reason, then my perfectly healthy, generous to a fault, grit-filled emergency-room nurse of a mother developed Alzheimer’s disease in the prime of her life for a reason. And I cannot, will not, accept that. Believing that much of life is pure chance and the world is full of chaos actually brings me quite a bit more solace. Shit happens, and our character is tested and formed by how we respond. Additionally, being on the receiving end of these misguided, albeit well-meaning, remarks has increased my awareness and sensitivity to others in distressing situations. Sometimes when life feels impossible, you need a friend to acknowledge, “This sucks. But I’m going to be here with you in it.” Needless to say, I am now a much better friend in a …

…n the grief of my mother’s losses — that she won’t watch me get married, or hold her grandchildren. I also grieve the theft of countless of her memories, ones I didn’t have time or foresight to extract from her mind before they were destroyed. Stories she was saving for when I started a family of my own. Perhaps my toughest grief these days assails me when I sit across from her and observe her, immersed…