I was my mother’s primary caregiver for the last eleven years of her life, by choice. I grew up hearing daddy say how one of these days it would be our turn (us kids) to take care of them, so when the day came that the mamabird could no longer be on her own, I simply thought, "It's my turn now."
I didn't know what life would hold for me when I left public employment to be by her side 24/7. All I knew is that life would take care of itself. It has that way of turning out like it is going to. Surely mama hadn't planned to spend her last years in that fog of Alzheimer's where every day sees a little more of your independence chipped away. Nor had I planned for watching my mother's understanding and her past being stripped from her, watching as those she once doted on became strangers to her —and one-by-one come less often, until they no longer came at all.
For my own part, every day that she has been gone (since 2007), I have longed for another chance to hold her hand and tell her how she is loved. But, as one of my daughters-in-law so aptly put it, there is no rewind on this life. We live life to its fullest in the moment, in full realization that the day will come when all we have left are the memories. I count myself among the most blessed to have walked those last miles of her journey with her, to have taken my turn.
To read a post written two years before her death, follow this link to “Til the day she dies.”
