Alzheimer's: Letting go

At first, I mourned the small things a lot. Before Alzheimer’s showing up, a stay at Mom and Dad’s meant a fridge stuffed with treats we loved. Now the cupboards were bare. My dad did not know all the little things she did. He was just learning the ins and outs of a grocery store – dad had worked long hours in construction while my mom managed our household. He now uses his Harris Teeter VIC card like a pro, but those early years were full of adjustments.

One of the first things to drop me to my knees after Mom’s diagnosis was thinking about her in my daughter, Alicia's, life. It made me determined to create experiences that would stick, creating new favorites. Mom was quickly no longer able to stay alone. So, when my Dad took fishing trips on some weekends, my husband and I took both our mothers to the mountains. Alicia happily rode the Blue Ridge Parkway between her grandmothers in the backseat of our car, helping Mom with her seatbelt, laughing, chatting and singing.

That first Christmas was hard. Mom no longer stuffed our stockings to bursting with the practical and the fun. She could no longer make holiday meals, but my dad makes killer pancakes that we all love. So, our Christmas meal became a pancake dinner where the kids would down flapjacks as fast as he could get them off the griddle. Mom, who had never cared much about pancakes before, even loved eating them with the signature mounds of whipped cream and chocolate syrup she had always put on Alicia’s.

I got better at letting go as the years went on. I found new activities for us to enjoy. Manicures became a special treat. I made sure I was seated between Mom and Alicia at the salon to help with instructions as we were pampered. Dad got a fire barrel going, and we’d sit for hours outside, eating s’mores and singing along to the Duprees.

I missed the other things we used to do, but my North Star was always Mom and Alicia. As long as they could enjoy time together, nothing else mattered.

When I began writing notes for this story back in late November, planning the topic for January, I had no inkling I was about to undergo the biggest letting go of my life. On Dec. 8, 2022, my dad, brother and I were with my mom when she took her final breath. She had been steeply declining for a while, but the final turn was sudden.

As I held her hand, I told Mom she had fought a good fight, we were ok…we loved her enough to let her go. That was the hardest, wanting her here with us so badly but knowing her quality of life had become so poor. It was the loving thing to do, to let her go.

I always wondered if once this Alzheimer’s journey was over would I remember my mom from before. When her memory care had wanted to feature her in their newsletter, the activities staff asked me about her favorite things to cook, places she had loved to visit and more, but I couldn’t remember. I’d been so focused on the present, on accepting and enjoying Mom as she was in the current moment, that I could not remember so many things about her from before dementia. I was so relieved that when she passed, the older memories came flooding back, like treasures in a cedar chest, waiting for me to unfold.

Even though the time with my mom on this earth is over, I plan to continue to share our journey here. I’ve learned so much over the past 12 years of Mom’s walk with Alzheimer’s and how to both connect with her and create bonding experiences for her and my daughter. I want others to know that so much beauty is still possible in the face of so much loss.