Unexpected Peace

Recently,  I found myself retreating to the corner in the entrance hallway of my mother's home. 

Not the home I grew up in, and I imagine when thoughts of childhood creep in, but her new home where she will finish the last part of her life’s journey.

Her beautiful artwork is not hanging on the walls. Instead, names of residents and holiday crafts line the walls and door.

Instead of the ever-present scent of  Lancome perfume,  my nose is filled with the combination of, urine, bleach, stale air, and expiration, clinging to me and seeping into every pore.

I was not in the immaculately kept house she called home and I called prison. I was in the Memory Care section of the nursing home where she now resides.

Sobbing uncontrollably, I slid down the corner wall, and squatted, my arms wrapped around me for comfort as tears streamed down my face.  My mother's head nurse looks at me, asking, with kind eyes, if I am ok. I nod yes… and no. Emotion has overcome me and I am not asking why, I am just being with all the emotions and can’t help but be painfully present.

These visits to my mom are not easy for me. She is living with late-stage Alzheimer's, and vascular dementia, although “living” is a debatable term. She has been robbed of her memories, limited in her cognitive and physical abilities, removed from her beautiful home, and lost her personal freedom to come and go. A visit is always an emotional experience.

After my father passed by suicide in early 2020, it fell to me to figure out how to take care of my mother. Besides her medical conditions, this situation was even more difficult because she had not been in my life for years. No calls or cards for birthdays, holidays, and numerous hospital stays for myself, and no support after my eldest son was involved in a pedestrian-vehicle accident that left him permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

All this life was happening far too fast and without a playbook. I had to make the brutal decision to bring her out to Colorado so I could care for her. I had vowed not to do this because I knew her history; She was physically, mentally, and emotionally unsafe. Yet I found myself here faced with this decision: I felt I couldn't leave her alone, yet I could not allow her back in my life. A position I never wanted to be in.

So, in March 2020, just as the world was shutting down due to COVID-19, she did come back to live with us, which proved damaging in every way and to anyone in my orbit. (another story for another time).

Ultimately, about 1 year later, I moved her into a memory care home where at least my family and I were safe from her destructive behavior.

I made a choice that day to set boundaries on what level of care I was going to give and what I could not give. Some may read that and think, “It is your mother!”, but I had to find a balance for my health. This was so incredibly freeing for me. I made a choice to keep myself and my family safe. I did not have to bring someone into my family's life whose poisonous ways would surely end us all. I had choices I could make to protect us and I chose to use them. I choose not to visit her every day, every week. This was proving unhealthy for her and me. I worked with staff to tailor the visits between Facetime calls and physical visits with near-daily contact with the nursing staff. I had to remind myself that I could choose boundaries and was not obligated to blow up my life again just because she birthed me. It was ok and healthy to make these choices. Popular, probably not, but I have never done what was popular. It was right for me; that is all I needed to remember.

As I punched in the code to enter the memory care unit, I took a breath in and held it while telling myself, “ I choose to be here, I know things will arise, It is ok to stay or not stay as long as I need, and all of this ok,” as I exhaled my last breath the heat of my breath trapped inside the disposable mask was like a potion that would hold my words near for me. I pushed open the heavy door, where music and laughter filled the air. As I walked slowly back to my mom’s room, I was refreshed by the sounds of living happening. My mom and her head nurse came into view. I stopped almost by an invisible wall. I could only look and could not believe my eyes-my mother was laughing, dancing, and hugging, she looked joyful and happy. I just watched, not sure I believed what I was seeing. Was this the same woman I had lived with for 18 years? The woman who had hurled nasty comments and seemingly enjoyed it? The woman who would grab my hands so hard there would be bruises where her tiny strong hands gripped? The woman whose small but mighty hand had met my face numerous times with a sting unmatched by many. Is this the same human?

My brain could not comprehend this was her. My heart felt a pang and rebroke after years of a such careful and kind attention to this wound-it took a millisecond to break. My knees felt wobbly and the familiar doom in the pit of my stomach came back with force. 

So…I found myself backed into a corner watching this person who was my mother, but a version of her that I had rarely seen…and it was confusing & heartbreaking.

Once the tears slowed down and I regained control over my breathing, I silently asked myself what was happening. Like warm honey poured over my head and down my back, arms to the soles of my feet, a sense of peace and calm covered me. I acknowledge to my inner child, that I recognized this version is the person you wanted from her, and I am sorry you never got to experience it. Parallel to this thought, it dawned on me that my mom must feel safe. Safe to allow her guard down to experience calm, joy, and happiness. I had not seen her like that in years, maybe ever.

 I could feel my heart creating space for this healing to begin. Space to allow gratitude for her to have this in her last chapter. Room for me to be ok with all of this. She was safe and taken care of and I was safe and taken care of. She could not hurt me or those I love. She could find peace in the end and it didn’t involve anyone from her past and I protected myself and others. This was a good thing.  This was our “happy ending.”

As this feeling of peace came over me, I experienced a realization of all that had transpired in the previous 5 or 10 minutes; I felt part of the leftover, hurt shell of me dissolve with every movement I made and when I was standing tall and stepped away, I shed all the years of hurt, confusion, and anger. No matter what, she is my mother. This disease is awful and no one deserves this ending to their lie and so…  I felt strangely happy for her. This cruel kindness given to us is another brutally beautiful lesson.