The Love She Forgot

April 10^th, 2045 – 2:08 am

My thoughts never leave me alone. I woke up about an hour ago and can’t seem to fall back asleep. It’s her birthday today. I remembered the second I woke up. Or did I wake up because I remembered?

I stayed in bed as long as I could, but I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about all the birthdays we celebrated together. My favourite was just a few years ago. We were picnicking. It was a gorgeous day. Dad was still around. We surprised her with a cake that the girls had made. She was so happy and so… proud of us. She couldn’t stop smiling.

When I went to visit her last week, she got mad and cursed me out of the room. She didn’t recognize me. She called me “wicked” and an “imposter”. She said her daughter was 9 years old, not some dreadful middle-aged woman. The nurses tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t listen. She said her daughter was just at school and was due home any moment. She started crying, and then I started crying. I don’t know what was worse, that I couldn’t calm my mother or that I was the source of her distress.

I will never forget the way she looked at me. Those beautiful brown eyes that for all of my life had been a source of solace, a source of hope, were not there anymore. I was no longer looking at the kind eyes of my mother; the eyes that I sought to gain strength every time I doubted myself. Those eyes were now looking at me with… indifference. I was no one to her. I was not her daughter anymore. At that moment, I wished to be 9 again. I wished to be anything just to be able to hug her.

So, I sat down. I sat down and asked her about her daughter. At first, she was very reserved. She didn’t trust me. But once I showed her picture of my girls, now in their teens, she opened up a little. She said that my youngest reminded her of her own daughter; they had similar eyes. This occupied her for a while, but she eventually got restless when her daughter didn’t come home. The nurse told me that recently this has become a normal routine. She said they usually distract her with a baking show, since she seems to enjoy them.

Growing up, my mother loved baking. She used to make me a birthday cake every year, my girls’ too. It warmed my heart to see that the old her is still in there somewhere. I slipped out without saying goodbye.

I wish I could keep her in the house with us, but we couldn’t possibly afford a stay-at-home nurse. My oldest is to start university next year and we want to make sure we can give her as many options as possible. I know my mother wouldn’t have wanted us to put ourselves in a pinch just to give her a little more comfort in her last days, but I can’t help feeling guilty. How can I let her live among strangers who do not love her? She is my mother. She raised me; she held me close when I was afraid, she comforted me when I was sad, she made me feel safe. And now I can’t do the same for her when she needs me the most. If I am truthful with myself, my biggest fear isn’t that she lives her last days among strangers, my biggest fear is to see her die among them.

How does she feel? Does she even understand that she is dying? Is she scared? Does she feel lost?

Does she ever have moments of clarity during the day? Does she ever miss me?

Now that Dad’s gone and she doesn’t recognize me, is there anyone in this world that could provide her with the comfort that she needs?

Oh, what I would give to have the answers to these questions.  

She won’t recognize me ever again, but I know that she is my mother. Should I bring her home to stay with us and forego of the future we have worked so hard to provide our children? Wouldn’t that make me feel guilty, too?

If I ever get diagnosed with dementia, I will request an assisted suicide. I don’t want my girls to have to go through this. No one deserves to be unloved by their parents. It’s a cruel and unhealthy… punishment. But maybe I deserve this; I should have treated her better.

I have not always been kind to her. It took me a while to “go back to her” after I moved out. We were never estranged, but we didn’t have a meaningful relationship for a while. I used to think she didn’t understand me. She had always been a stay at home Mom, while I had career ambitions. I thought if I told her about my aspirations, she would dismiss them, or if I told her about my worries, she’d make light of my problems. So, I never even tried.

Once I had my first daughter, everything changed. When I held my baby for the first time, I knew. I knew that no matter what she does and how she does it, she will always be my baby; and I will always love her. Before I was a mother, I never thought twice about how a strong bond like motherhood transcends worlds, how it defies logic, how it perseveres. It doesn’t matter that I chose a different life than my mother, that I was living in a different city, that I had different hobbies and held different views… she knew me. She knew every fibre of my being, and she loved me.

I remember that I called her a couple of days after this revelation and I couldn’t even form a tangible sentence. I apologized, I cried, I told her that I now knew how she must have felt. She never said “I told you so” or “it’s too late”. That’s not what mothers do. She just listened to me. She comforted me. She told me that she has always been proud of me. After talking to her, I felt so much lighter than I had felt in years. I never even knew that the strain in our relationship was weighing down on me so much.

Now that my eldest daughter is off to university, is she going to distance herself from me? Will she think that my calculating spirit wouldn’t understand her creative soul?

I wonder how present I am for my girls. Do they feel neglected? I have tried to shield them from my internal struggles, but I can’t help feeling that my preoccupation has created an invisible barrier between us. I haven’t told them anything, but they feel it. They feel that something is pulling me away. They deserve a more present mother, but how can I be there for my mother and for them, too? It feels like I must choose one and let go of the other.

My husband falls asleep before his head even touches the pillow. I take sleeping pills and yet, I never feel rested. Am I doing the right thing? Will I ever know?

Will they ever forgive me?