It’s Mother’s Day Again. Mom, Are You Aware?

My mom turns 89 this coming July. Given her age, her advanced Alzheimer’s, and her limited mobility, most would agree that every new birthday she lives to see is a milestone of monumental proportions.

I don’t disagree

Yet, the daily reality for me is that she’s only with us in body, but her mind’s all but gone!

Is this how my mom’s final days will play out?

“Can You Remember Us Mom?”

Since October 2019 when she moved in with us after shortly being diagnosed with the early onset of Alzheimer’s, my mom’s been on a steady downward trajectory in terms of mental health and mobility.

As the world grappled with COVID-19 the following year, my mother suffered a nasty fall. It led to a hip replacement that left her permanently weak and incapable of independent movement without the help of a walker or wheelchair.

Our lives were suddenly altered too.

New arrangements were made at home, with the installation of various safety furnishings and fittings. Like a commode chair for the toilet and bed rails to prevent falls. We also had to arrange for her daycare center to pick her up and drop her off in a wheelchair-friendly van five days a week.

More critically, she had to be closely monitored daily, especially with her army of medications prescribed by various specialists, from geriatrics to dermatology (she has an unpleasant skin condition called bullous pemphigoid that causes her to scratch several parts of her body nearly every minute if unmedicated)

She has no concept of time anymore. She doesn’t know what hour of the day it is. Or what day of the week or month or year it is.

She still knows by sight who we are and where we “perch” on the family tree. She knows this person is her eldest daughter and that person is her grandson. But she no longer remembers names.

When not at daycare, my mom now sits quietly at home in a special upright chair with an attached tray-table, coloring inside children picture books that we buy her. She, who was often chatty (to the point of naggy) before Alzheimer’s struck, is now mostly non-verbal. Except for rare, unpredictable, and brief bouts of sudden lucidity at odd hours of the day and night — when she spouts in dialect snatches of unconnected memories at almost rapid-fire speed — it’s easy to forget she’s even there.

Memories Of My Mother

I confess. I’m not close to my mom, though there’s no question I would pick her and not my father to raise me were I given a choice. As I’ve written in my blog more than once, my late father wasn’t a good parent.

Having said that, there was also a divide between my mom and me for most of my life.

Her whole life was spent more like a domestic helper than companion and nurturing mom to her husband and five children. With no formal education, like many in her generation, all she had to offer were her hands and feet to manage all things domestic. She was matched-made to my father in her late teens, a man who was nearly two decades older and straight from China. She was his second wife after his first in China passed away during childbirth (the baby didn’t make it either).

My memories of my mom would mostly find her in either the kitchen or the dining area.

I vaguely recall tender moments between my mom and me when I was young. But they all revolved around housework, such as ironing hankies or folding bamboo leaves as she made rice dumplings for us during the Rice Dumpling (also called the Dragon Boat) Festival between May and June every year.

Apart from these, my memory’s hazy as to what other points of parent-child connection we had.

What Does Mother’s Day Mean For My Mom?

I wish to be clear.

I’m not an ingrate.

I am more than fully aware that for someone like my mom with her background, providing for her children’s physiological needs is likely all she’s capable of to express maternal love and care.

For that, I’m thankful.

But it doesn’t take away the fact that while I was growing up, I needed more. I needed companionship. Answers about the world and life. Solutions to school work and how to make friends. None of these needs were ever truly met by her or my father. Even my four older siblings didn’t spend much meaningful time teaching me to navigate the transition years from childhood to adulthood.

So even though I was in a large family, I felt more alone than accompanied for much of my life.

But the tide has now turned.

Now, my mom is the one who is alone. She is the one who spends her waking moments in a silent world of colors and daycare.

It cannot be her choice. It cannot be anyone’s. Yet this is what it is, when age robs us of dignity and the ability to connect.

So Mom, I know we will still find a way to celebrate Mother’s Day tomorrow with you.

But will you be “with us”? Will you be aware?