June 17th ended an eight-year journey regarding my mom’s illness of having dementia. I expected to react one way, and I have that did not happen. For example, I expected to breathe a sigh of relief. Have I? To a degree, yes, knowing my mother no longer is in pain. I expected to delve into depression or deep grief over her passing. Frankly, I have not experienced neither. I expected to be happy, knowing I could continue living life without thinking about mom before I did anything. Let’s just say I am not jumping up and down in pure happiness about me being free to do whatever I want.

This has me wondering what I am really going through.

If you have read earlier posts regarding this journey, perhaps you can get a better understanding. In 2015 I had no idea of what was going on with my mother, and I was in a downward spiral because I didn’t know how to react, how to resolve any of the problems I witnessed with the illness. Eventually, as the disease progressed, I concluded within myself that my mother as I was used her being…was dead. Her true personality and her laughter were replaced by confusion, anger and unexpected behavior, all of which I was not used to experiencing with her. Down through the years, I was seeing a familiar face that no longer had the personality I grown accustomed to; that was gone. Having said all that, could it be that for years I was undergoing the grieving process?

Though I didn’t recognize that at the time, I believe that may very well be the case with me. The times I spent praying for her, the sleepless nights sitting up in my bed thinking about how I could fix her and the situation while knowing at the same time I could not, eventually coming to the realization that I had to be patient with her (and myself) and allowing the dementia process to happen and go the full course is making me realize the whole time I was grieving.

During the funeral I was afraid I would just yell and scream and cry, and there were times when the tears came during the service. But I had more emotion at my aunts’ funerals years ago than I did at my mother’s. I thought I was supposed to have that, but I didn’t. Even now, in four days it will be a month since her death, and yet the surprising reaction is there doesn’t appear to be more reaction to it all. Why am I feeling so guilty about that?

When I look back at all that has happened, I believe God was with me and helped me in the preparation of her death. For example, I was not like my friend Mary who had to clean out her deceased mother’s apartment after the funeral. I took care of that after I found a nursing home for my mother to live in February 2018, donating the furniture to Habitat for Humanity. I walked around each room of her place as memories flooded my brain before I locked the door for the last time. Before that happened, my mother requested I put my name on her bank account so if she could not go to the bank, I could get funds out when needed. I remember being angry at God who I feel put me in a position of being a caregiver when I didn’t want to be, taking care of bank accounts, writing checks for her bills, being overseer of her finances (while struggling with my own), wanting time to be my own but knowing I needed to visit her and handle her affairs. I had to (maybe for the first time) literally stand toe to toe with my strong-willed mother and tell her loudly we were not going to do that (what she directed) but we were going to do this (my decision), much to her dismay. I was now the leader of the family, a position I did not ask to be placed in; I no longer had one child, I now had two, which included my mother. The more decisions I made, the more comfortable I became with it. When talking to the hospice staff about what to do next when mom’s condition worsened, I quickly gave directives on what to do and what meds to stop. I stood by those decisions and didn’t feel guilty about it. Nevertheless, it was still a surprising reaction I was not expecting.

I am doing my best to accept what I am and am not feeling, trying not to feel guilty about it, and accept the grieving process, regardless of how the grieving pendulum swings.