Sometimes People Die Slowly

Sometimes people die slowly. Stroke. Multiple Sclerosis. Cancer. Addiction. It doesn't really matter what the cause is, it's the fact that you look at that person and think to yourself "It's all downhill from here." You know there's no light at the end of the tunnel, no sun coming up on the horizon. Just a whole lot of rough times and heartache ahead.

That's what I see when I look at my mom. 80 years old and afflicted with dementia - Alzheimer's is the fancy buzz-word these days, but basically what it boils down to is seeing a person you love and admire morph into an annoying, pitiful stranger that you feel obligated to help and yet, at the same time, you dread being around. The real hard part for me to swallow is knowing that my mom would FREAK OUT if she (in her right mind) could see what this disease has made of her in that last few years. She took care of people like that. Worked in nursing homes and home health care jobs for years. She would come home crying to me about how these people were treated and how sad it was to see them in such a state. And then she would always make me promise NEVER to let her end up like that...

Still, there she is... in a nursing home. Confused, depressed, and just wanting to go back home and be on her own. She has her own little altered story of how things used to be that includes none of the agonizing months my wife and I battled with her to get help and, ultimately, took away her options and decided things for her.

I know in the grand scheme of things that I did the right thing, but I know in my heart that I should've done better. Simply because she did better for me. In every circumstance, in every way. I never saw this coming and I was ill-prepared for it when it confronted me. I'm glad the way things worked out as far as where she's at now -considering the circumstances- but I can't help thinking that -maybe- if I'd have done MORE with my life and been MORE successful, I'd have the money to spend on her to make sure her last years were spent better than they are being spent now.

Sure, we visit her and bring her over every chance we have, but she doesn't remember that. She only remembers the loneliness and the confusion of why she is where she is and why her son won't let her go home. It kills me. Slowly. And while I still cling to remnants of my mom and treasure them, I realize that she is fading. Slowly. And in her place is this annoying and confused old woman whose only purpose in life is her next cigarette and, if you have the time, she'll fill you in on her evil son who took away her freedom and never comes to see her. That just kills me. Slowly.