That dark, sinking, relentlessness of March 19th…

March 19th. It’s just another day. Only not to me. I could feel March 19th coming. Maybe about a week ago I started to feel it. I started to see flashes of that day and the night before. Today…again being March 19th, I awoke like it was any other day, but then it hit me. Today isn’t like other days. I was quickly taken back to last year. The day I moved my mom out of her home and into an Alzheimer’s facility. It’s not the same pain a year later thankfully. My inner defense system won’t even let me near that amount of pain anymore. But looking back on the night before and that day and the days after, sometimes I’m surprised I’m not still a pile of mush on the floor.

I remember I wanted her last night in her house to be special, meaningful, and sentimental, given how much she loved that house. She wanted to be buried in the backyard of that house. No joke. It was the last place she saw my dad. It was the last place we all saw him. This is where he lived. His things always remained in the attic. And maybe she always thought that if his spirit were somewhere, it would be in that house with her. I’d like to think that’s true. She held onto that house for dear life. Until the Alzheimer’s took that from her too. 

We ordered her favorites and had my sisters and their families over. I thought it was going relatively smoothly, but then our guests started to leave for the night and my mom got up to leave too. She asked my sister Remy for a ride. She wanted to go home. Her mom was waiting for her. We all took a silent glance at one another and then I told her that I had spoken to her mom and that she was going to stay here with us tonight. She refused. She didn’t believe that I spoke to her mom (and the way she spoke to me said to me that she didn’t know I was her daughter in that moment) and wanted to go with Remy. I’m not proud of it but I was disappointed and angry with her for forgetting me and not wanting to spend her last night in her house with me. I grew impatient with her and the way I spoke to her showed that. We made excuses to her and all our guests were able to leave relatively unscathed. We watched TV for a while but she kept getting up and walking to the door. I kept bringing her back. When it was time for bed, I brought her upstairs, but she refused to change her clothes, she refused to even take off her shoes. She refused to get into bed. She wanted to leave. In hindsight, I should have stayed in the room with her that night. Maybe that would have been easier for us all. Instead I told her that her mom would be here soon to get her and to rest until then and watch some TV. I don’t think I slept at all that night. She kept getting up and coming to our room to ask questions and talk to us. Even when she was in her room, I couldn’t sleep because I was worried she would try to leave in the middle of the night and I wouldn’t hear the door and I would lose her. That was always my worst fear when I came home – that under my care she would go missing.

March 19th came and the day of the move seems like a blur now. It all went so fast. There was so much to do, I didn’t really have time to feel what was really happening until later. I wasn’t able to pack much in the days leading up to the move because I didn’t want to upset her or her to be asking questions about boxes. My mom was taken by a family friend for the day to the Aquarium and lunch and dessert and for walk…any and everything to keep her busy until everything was in place in her new home. The minute the car left, I sprang into action. I packed her clothes and toiletries. I emptied her furniture and put her other miscellaneous belongings into boxes. I was deciding what should stay and what should go and I didn’t feel like I was the right person to do that. Only she would know what was meaningful to her. I had ideas but I wasn’t 100% sure and again I feared I would be letting her down by missing something important that was supposed to go with her. The movers came an hour later and they put everything from her room into their truck. We followed with her belongings. We spent the rest of the day unpacking her things and making her new room look as much like her old room as I could.

When she finally saw the new room, she thought it looked great but didn’t have any understanding that she would be staying there now. I went back and forth a number of times realizing each time that she needed something I hadn’t yet gotten for her. We stayed late into the evening. I wanted everything to be right. It was a very long day. Trying to leave was also a mission as of course she wanted to go with us. She said she didn’t belong there and wanted to go home to her mom. If you’re ever wondering what it feels like to have your soul crushed, it’s that – having your parent be afraid and upset, crying and begging you to take her with you…and having to tell her she can’t. Even now I can barely think about that time because it’s too painful.

When we got back to the house, I felt like a ton of bricks hit me when we set foot inside. I hadn’t had time to deal with the emotional aspect of the move all day until then and man…I took an emotional beating. It felt like someone was repeatedly hitting me in the face and stomach. I remember her room being so dark. There was no lamps to turn on anymore. No furniture. I sat in the middle of the empty floor just looking around. It was like a tornado had come through and destroyed everything and taken everything away. I can’t think of another time when I have felt so empty. Yes, I have suffered loss before; even tremendous loss, but nothing had ever left like that. Only then did the full weight of all I had just lost that day. Sitting in that empty room, I was forced to feel the devastation, not only of March 19th, but of the situation as a whole. I felt a dark, sinking, relentless pain…and it was eating me alive. 

And you’re asking yourself; why is she telling me all this? Well here we are a year later and I won’t lie…the pain still eats at me, but it’s not so dark anymore. Since then we moved to San Diego permanently so I could be closer to her and I thought…I thought the pain would swallow me whole. I thought I would be miserable, but I’m not. The grief of Alzheimer’s is relentless, but I don’t feel like I’m drowning in it right now. I’m happy. And given the situation, my mom is doing okay. She participates in activities, she has 24/7 care with people she likes, she likes to have dance parties, she still knows all the words to Frank Sinatra songs, she’s always trying to help the other residents around her (she feels responsible for them), and the best part is that I get to see her at least once a week and when we do, she lights up like a Xmas tree. The look on her face when she sees me makes it all worth it. She wraps her arms around me and breathes with relief. Even though she may not know my name that day, or know that I’m her daughter, our connection is as strong as ever. She knows me. She knows I’m hers, she just can’t put a label to it anymore, at least not all the time. I’ve learned to accept this and be grateful that our connection still finds ways to shine through her illness.

What a difference a year makes….

Onward.