lady of my life

I don't want to see my mom.

She's been on a rapid decline for the past year. Living in an Alzheimer's facility for the past 6 or 8 months.

My mom doesn't really remember me. It's like she knows my name or knows I'm a safe person but she doesn't know who I am. Also she knows I can break her out of the home. But then we're out and having ice cream and she is so confused and happy and angry and telling stories of things that are meandering through her brain. The stories have no basis in reality. And it's hard to take.

I keep thinking I did my time with my mom when I was a teenager. Looking after her when they got a divorce. Going into the psych hospitals to hold her hand while seeing various brothers chain smoking in threadbare robes or shuffling in a drugged out stupor. My most vivid memory is watching her slump to the floor when she found out my brother John was dead. After that, I'd wait up for her at night when she was coming home from class. I was generally nice to her boyfriends and went along for the ride. What else was I to do at 12, 13, 14 and so on...

I moved to Eastern Washington in eleventh grade so she could finish up college and become a teacher. It was good timing for me as I was becoming a super paranoid stoner. I needed to move away from pot and onto alcohol and the cowboy town of Ellensberg was good place for my transition.

We were friends when I needed a mom. I was the caretaker and confidant. And I feel guilt for no longer being able to stay in that role. I'm letting my step dad, brother and sister take the reins now after brow beating them into it, and making all the plans for this home she's in. I've said I came back to the northwest to be near my mom and dad as they age out of this world, but I don't want to see it. I don't want to see the pain and confusion my mom goes through every step of her day. I can handle it, but I don't want to.

My mom taught me to be tough. But she taught me it was so the world wouldn't get the best of me. I want to unlearn that the world is a scary place. I want to find the beauty in relating to it and it's inhabitants with a level of truth and depth that is necessary for me to thrive.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mother dearly. It's just that I can't share myself with her anymore, she's not there to talk about the times we had, the fun we shared and the battles that raged. I think I may just want to keep it for me so it stays secure in my memory banks.

I'm going tomorrow to see my mom. I'll take her for ice cream and tell her about my life and my impending trip to New York. Her eyes will light up at the sound of it. My fear may subside and I just might think, why don't I do this more often...