My mom has dementia. She was my best friend, but the person I knew is gone.
Two years ago my mom had a medical episode that left her in the hospital for 50 days.
She was discharged to a rehab facility to learn how to eat and walk again.
She was my best friend and now celebrating holidays like Mother's Day hurt so much.
Only two years ago, Mother's Day was a wonderful, beautiful holiday. My mother had quickly and happily adjusted to her new life in a senior apartment complex after I moved her in April. Her house had become too much for her to handle, and the proceeds from the sale paid for her apartment rent.
She loved her new life and all the friends she was making. They announced families were invited to an upcoming Mother's Day brunch and she wanted to show off her family to her new friends. My partner, my son, and I got dressed up and took pictures on her balcony before heading down to eat. It was a glorious, sunny day. We enjoyed mimosas, ate too much, and laughed a lot. I knew moving her had been the right decision.
Only two months later, my mom experienced a mental health crisis after starting a new prescription and had medication-induced psychosis. Her behavior became bizarre and dangerous and I had to admit her to the hospital after a minor car accident.
Her health deteriorated quickly
She'd had bad reactions to new meds twice before, but this time was worse than ever. She became unable to eat or drink and talked in nonsense syllables and rhyming noises 24 hours a day, which was called "excited catatonia," the opposite of what you think of when you hear catatonia.
I thought she would improve after the med left her system as that's what happened in the past, but her brain couldn't snap out of it. Her team of doctors was baffled by her condition and unable to find a medication that worked to turn things around. She became incontinent and had to be put on a feeding tube. She hurled herself out of bed and hit her head on the floor so she had to be restrained. Twice she almost died from aspirating fluid in her throat since she couldn't swallow and had to go to the ICU to recover.
I was there every day of her nightmarish 50-day stay, visiting the hospital twice a day to meet with her medical team. Seeing my mother in the state she was in every day caused me substantial trauma. I practically lived at the hospital and was thrust into the role of caretaker.
She had to learn how to do everything again
Eventually, she was discharged and had to go to a rehab facility to re-learn how to swallow, eat, stand, and walk.
She was left with permanent cognitive impairment and dementia, and I was left in charge of every detail of her life — her finances, personal life, and healthcare decisions — mental and physical. After rehab, I had to move her into an assisted living facility. I am physically unable to care for her, nor can I provide the constant supervision she requires.
Fortunately, she is the type of person who is easygoing and positive, and though she doesn't always make sense the staff enjoy her and take good care of her. She lost the ability to understand how to work a phone or computer, and cannot concentrate on anything so she lost her love of reading books. But she has TV, attends activities when she can, and I take her out shopping or to lunch often.
I miss the mom she used to be
Mom was my best friend. We talked every day on the phone and got together frequently. She rescued me from a lot of scrapes in life and was my most trusted confidante, and a source of comfort, support, and care throughout all of the challenges of my life, including a chronic autoimmune disease, a dozen surgeries, and multiple broken bones. She helped me with my baby after he was born and loved being a grandma. She came to my house for every major holiday and helped me cook, walking me through traditional family dishes again and again so I could make them myself. Now, she can't even concentrate on a magazine, her mind moves too quickly, her train of thought constantly interrupted, her sentences missing words she can't access.
No holiday has been the same since 2022 and Mother's Day is particularly painful. When I look at the smiling photos from her balcony before that brunch, I feel like I'm looking at something from a fantasy storybook.
Mom is certainly not the same, and neither am I. While I treasure the good memories I have, the woman whose life I manage is not the mother I knew for 52 years. I miss my old mom every single day. I spend time with and care for the person she is now, and spend hours every week managing her life, her bills, her appointments, and her needs, but it's an odd feeling to miss someone who is physically still present. The Mom I knew and loved is gone.
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