Dear Mother,
As I write this you are living at the Interim Long Term Care Facility at the local hospital. You are there because at this stage of your life you need the extra care that they can give you, but I don't think you understand that. I visit you when I can. I know I used to come 3 or 4 times a week, but I just can't do that any more and I feel badly as I know you like me to be there. I can only come twice a week now because my visits drain the very life out of me. Leaving you I feel limp and useless.
You always had that effect on me. It was never easy for us to be in the same room, was it? Now when I visit, you cling to me as though you were clinging to life itself, and I'm sure it must feel like that to you. You cry, and you agonize because you want your life condition to be better.
Dementia is an ugly word.
Total dementia would be easier for you. But, life hasn't been that kind, it has given you partial dementia. Enough so you need 24 hour care, but you are often fully comprehending where you are and what is happening to you. That is why I feel so sad for you Mother.
Ray came to see you this morning, but you were not very pleasant to him. I expect you were mad that it wasn't me ... but I have visited twice this week and I still feel the effects of those visits. I will come on Monday after my yoga class. But, I cannot tell you that, because time has no meaning for you now.
The nurses tell me you are trying to manipulate me. Are you? It certainly wouldn't be the first time ...
Who would have thought that you would be leaning on me at the end of your life? Often when you hug me now, you whisper sorry, sorry. Are you saying you're sorry for crying? Or, is this a confessional sorry?
Does it even matter any more?
I'll do my best for you mother. But, I can't allow you to suck me dry. I need my essence, I need my spirit, I need my energy as I still have a lot of living to do, a lot of good times to experience with my wonderful husband, family and friends that surround me.
I wish our 61 years together had been different, but they were what they were.
And I will continue to do my best for you mother, I won't leave you. Don't cry any more.
5 comments:
Oh Pauline how much my heart cried for you when reading your letter. How I wished I could have been there as you closed your computer and enveloped you in a hug of caring and friendship.
It took honesty and strength to write it all down. cheryl
Bless you Cheryl ... I simply HAD to write this. It's been swirling around my head all week ...
My heart broke that your relationship was so strained with your Mother. I could feel the heartache and how difficult things are. I, too, wish I could give you a huge hug. Your post must have been so difficult to write.
Actually, it wasn't difficult to write. Once I had made the decision that the only way to get these thoughts out of my head was to write them down, then they just flowed and a lot of stress flowed out of me along with them.
Why write it on my blog? I cannot answer that. I've thought a lot about why not just in a private notebook ... but that didn't feel right. I seemed to need to send it out into the Universe - if I can't send the letter to her,only that would do.
Does that make any sense?
It was a lovely letter Pauline.
I really feel for you and I feel that I should perhaps write a similar letter to my daughter Andrea.
You are just SO lucky to have the love and support of your lovely Ray. I am pea green with envy.
Hang on in there. I am sure your Mother loves you, she just has the utmost difficulty in showing it.
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