Fear
When I was a child, I was scared of things. Dogs. New staircases. Talking to relatives with too-loud voices. I was scared of ghosts and monsters and the oogieboogies who live in closets and keep the doors from closing right. I was scared of having no friends at school, of being teased, of getting lost. I was scared of wild animals and tame ones. I was scared of heights, of riding a bicycle without holding onto the handlebars, of drowning.
I learned that many of these fears are only of what MIGHT happen. I might fall off the bicycle and hurt myself if I don’t hold on. A dog might bite me. No one might like me. The ghosts might scare me, the oogieboogies take me.
I remember though, when I realized that one of my fears, one of my strongest fears, was not a might. Not a maybe. It was only a when. One day, my parents will die. One day, I will lose my mother and my father. I was young when this came to me, that one day, without doubt (unless I died first) I would have to survive my parents’ death. It was like I was suddenly breathing desert air. Hot and dry, my breath burned in me and it was as if the world hardened around me. Suddenly all my fears were both inconsequential, and more powerful. My fears were not just imaginary bugbears for me to overcome. What I feared, might be. Would be. And I would someday have to deal.
My mother is not dying. She is not dead. She is, however, disappearing. She has early-onset dementia. And I am losing her. Have been losing her now for a few years and now it’s clear that she is not coming back. And the air I am breathing burns me.
That is my biggest fear about myself. I would rather be euthanased, than put my family through me having dementia or Alzheimers. My mother in law had it, & it was just awful. I live in horror of my husband getting it.
How sad for you.
I bet she won’t forget that she loves you.
A fear we all have.
But the sadness is ours not theirs.
I’m so sorry. Because it’s so truly awful.
My grandmother had Alzheimer’s, but I’m too young to really remember. It is a huge fear for me, though, for myself and my mother.
I lost my father, nearly 7 years ago, after an impossibly long, but very hard fought, battle with a rare cancer. The day before he died, I fed him blackberries I picked from the bush he’d planted years before. He was too weak to feed himself, and it broke my heart, but even more, I could tell how hard it was for him to have to be fed by his child. To this day it hurts to have lost him.
And the blackberry bush never produced another berry. It died with him.
I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this.
After my father dropped dead one morning, my family and I spent some time debating the benefits and drawbacks of the sudden death vs. the long goodbye.
The ultimate conclusion, we learned, is that grief is not relative. It is. It consumes. One is not better. Neither is preferable.
I am so very sorry that you will be walking down this dark road.
I am so sorry.
What can you do but love her as much as you can? Love is the one thing that is never wasted.
i am so sorry ~ warm hugs … xox
So so sorry. I’m just starting to deal with perhaps a similar situation. Almost unbearable worry and sadness. Loaded on top of the already tottering pile of daily stress.
I’m so sorry- it is so scary, and so huge. I too have always lived in fear of the what ifs, and find the certainty of my parents’ deaths terrifying.
When my grandfather died I had this very strong image of my mother, her sister, and her brother being truly alone in the world. Even though they have each other and the rest of our family- without their parents it seemed to me that they weren’t tethered to the world somehow.
It’s amazing how some childhood fears color our whole existence. I am so sad to read about your mom. Losing her mind faster than her body is devastating. I agree with all the others who have said, in principle, that “Love endures.”
Keep reminding yourself, and her, and your children, of this: “My love for you is the greatest power of all.”
It makes my heart ache for you that you have to go through this. I agree with Liz – there’s no one way that’s easier for everyone left behind. Slow or fast, it’s going to hurt like a bugger no matter what.
When my mom was dying, my hugest fear was what would happen afterwards to me. I thought that there would be a gigantic black hole that would just swallow me up because I couldn’t imagine living without my beloved mom around. The good/sad part of the process is that you do go on. The sun sets and the sun rises, and you can’t stop it. You get carried along, and the black hole doesn’t swallow you up.
That’s not to say life’s a party, but it didn’t end for me with her death. Your lovely husband and kids and sister(s?) will be what gets you through.
You are in such an incredibly hard place. We’ll all keep you in our thoughts.
When I am overwhelmed with sadness about the almost-total-loss of someone I love, I try to remember how much my mother loved having her demented grandmother live with them when Mom was a child. If mom put on a costume from the dress-up box including a hat, knocked on the door, and introduced herself as Miss Brown or Miss Green, her grandmother would immediately be on best company behavior. My mother and her demented grandmother would spend the afternoon having tea. Both loved the visits.
I was named for this great-grandmother.
I am so sorry. This seems to me to be the most damaging disease. I’m watching it happen with my mother-in law and the fear of it happening to my mother gives me palpitations.
Take care of yourself. Hugs to you from a little bit west in Ohio…
I know this path well, and I send my heart to yours. Remember: take care of yourself first or you cannot care for others. Resources abound for information; help is a bit more difficult to come by. I offer my support for all the years to come. Love lasts. B