On April 12, 2022, I knew it was coming, but I didn’t know it was 62 days away. Honestly, even on June 12, 2022, I didn’t know mom would take her last breath the next day. I began following mom’s Alzheimer’s journey on October 4, 2017, loosely at first but more closely as we approached that last breath.
While many more were squeezed by or washed in this journey, 54 blog posts since 2017 were focused on it.
A Return Journey
Beginning next week, I’ll revisit Alzheimer’s Bull, one post a day each day until June 12, the last time I shared space and breathed the same air with mom. The posts will flow with notes about the moment, what I did and didn’t anticipate, and what I carry forward.
I’m not sure where this will take me or how it will serve others. The task beckons, and I can’t not answer its call. I offer it in honor of mom and in support of all Alzheimer’s victims, those who battle Alzheimer’s Bull directly and those caught in the Bull’s path.
This is not an exercise in wallowing in the trouble; I don’t typically re-read books or re-watch shows and movies. I’m taking this on because revisiting the words that emerged around this journey will help me metabolize the loss.
Hopefully, the words will comfort those in the middle of the journey, if only with the knowledge that it’s hard. That we’re imperfect. That what we suffer is too much and what we do is never enough, yet we are always enough.
This is also for those on the other side of the journey. To remind them that they were enough. To help them make space for excavating the gems from the experience, because there are treasures, there are blessings.
I hope you’ll join me for a little healing and more connection.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2023.
What a wonderful idea. I’m interested in following your powerful journey of saying goodbye to your mom.
Thanks, Laurie
Observing a fifth anniversary like this can be a comfort. I hope it is for you. I don’t think it is wallowing at all. The tides of grief have no pattern; sometimes they are at high tide and sometimes barely noticeable. My hope also is that others will find inspiration or comfort in your revisits. One of my co workers is a 24 a day caregiver of her mother with Alzheimers (she moved her mother into her apartment and it’s the two of them-she works from home- with occasional breaks provided by siblings in another state). There are many unheard and unapplauded caregivers just like you were, out there. Alana ramblinwitham
This will be the first, and probably the hardest. I know I need to prepare for it, and this feels like a good thing to do.