Sunday evening as she began her final journey she said to Amy and I, “Did you I kid myself that I can still talk to her. I don’t think it will make the finality of deathĪny easier. Waited for a blink each day to see a glimpse of what Mom was. Would say as we waited for the sun to set, “Wendy most people don’t wait for Much as I could, I’d get her down to the beach to enjoy the beautiful sunset Was lucky enough to spend 6 beautiful weeks with Mom at the ocean this year. She always waited and stared at the horizon to see the blink:ĭay the sky is different and Mom was different. The blink refers to the very moment the sun sets below the horizon. I shared on social media, a bit of a eulogy, her reminder to look for her as we look into the setting sun. Not alive, but in our hearts, and it the space between. In her last days on Earth Mom told us that she'd be with us, we'd have her forever and always. I told myself that I was given a long time to process the loss of her, thinking it would be easier when she finally passed. I told myself that I'd already starting grieving over the loss of my Mom and yet I could still talk to her, spend time with her, and be with her physical presence. And then minutes later, she didn't remember that I had come so unglued. We didn't grow up with yelling and here I was screaming at her to try to get through to her about how her choices were selfish and dangerous. In my sister and my eyes, Mom was acting like a child and we were having to parent her, and a few times yell. We had a long period of rebellion, denial, anger.

Each time we'd get together, she'd become more isolated, her world closing in. As the symptoms progressed I started losing Mom back then.

We continued to remind her that she was safe with us and we'd take care of her. She was aware of her memory lapses, and navigated it as gracefully as she could. Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in September 2019. Not like a freight train, knocking me down hard.

Chills brave words blogspot