Mom was is dying. Slowly disintegrating into an unknown existence. First her mind, then also her body. All she remembered was her name.
She
was elderly and had dementia for at least her final 5 years, probably
even longer the doctors said. It got very bad between us once the
paranoia of the dementia became very strong. Unfortunately, I was the
only one she had to which to focus all of her fear, her anger and
understandable confusion.
She
would've be horrified by the wicked games of the dying brain and the
dependency on the others. In the end she was just an old fragile
woman who wanted peace. In the whispers of her ultimately foggy mind,
her love broke through like a flower breaks through the asphalt;
briefly piercing through the dementia and always unexpected. I wish I
could've given that to her.
I
knew Mom too well.
At
the time I did not even know what narcissism was. I just thought I
wasn't good enough to love. If I would have known what narcissism at
that time, I definitely would've understood how my mother was no
doubt was a card carrying member. But until your mother tells you
that you are, in fact, worth loving, you can only believe it
intellectually. It is actually thee most personal and soul validation
there is. Without it, we are faking it.
I
can take solace in knowing things intellectually but integrating it
with my heart has been a slow arduous effort, to say the least. I
think as a result, I did not feel grief so much as relief.
I
know where she’s buried, but I have no desire to visit her grave. I
haven’t resolved the question of whether or not I can forgive her.
All I can say is I hope she rests in peace. I’m glad I’ve finally
found a bit of my own.
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