Mom’s Body Is Present but Her Spirit Is Gone
Dementia fogs are happening more frequently
My mother is staring at me, but she doesn’t see me. The look on her face isn’t entirely confused, there’s also resignation and sorrow there.
As her comprehension slips away, she understands enough to know she can’t stop the progression of what’s happening to her. Her destruction will continue whether she fights it or not, and along with it, her will to live.
I sit on the small wooden chair with the green seat, unsure of what to do. I put my hands in my lap, then underneath my body, and finally let them fall to my side.
My grief of the past and the future collide with the anguish of the present — my mother is disappearing in front of me and like her, I’m powerless to stop it.
When I talk to her, she either can’t hear what I’m saying or doesn’t comprehend its meaning.
Everything is an unanswerable question.
Our staring contest continues, and then her face lights up, and I can tell she knows me.
“It’s Christine. Your daughter,” her caregiver says but it’s too late. The curtain has already fallen and my mother goes back into her head.
