Mother’s Day is this coming Sunday, May 12. As I found myself thinking about my mother, who moved on to be with her Lord and Savior July 5 of last year, I went looking for a note I wrote to her back in May 2015. Actually, the note was more to me, since she was well on her way into the deepest, darkest room Alzheimer’s could design for her. At the time I wrote this note, I was spending some precious time with her, giving my sister, the primary caretaker a much needed break.
This note, for some reason, has much more meaning for me now than when I wrote it. I hope you can appreciate the state I was experiencing mentally and emotionally at the time. Here it is:
Momma, as I look at you, I see a foggy image of what you were. At 84, you still possess the natural darkness of hair you had at 48. At 64, I somehow don’t view your years beyond me as old. Momma, I talk with you, but the memory from which you draw topics retrieves points of reference from many years gone by. As you talk about these memories, you paint them with colors as fresh as if they were applied fifteen minutes ago. While your memories of events from fifteen minutes ago are quickly etherealized. Momma, I find myself stretching to be patient and understanding of your lately acquired mental acumen. I listen to the same stories at intervals of minutes that are much too short. You must have done the same for me, in my youth, some time ago.
Momma, when I visit you, you take much more time to prepare yourself for a visit to the house of worship, the place where you still light up as if you were already in heaven. After you’ve cleaned yourself up well, you often consume a lot of time in a search for your purse. We often find it under your bed, where you have placed it for safe keeping, seemingly even from yourself.
Momma, you often get confused; you get angry; you accuse those who love you dearly of doing things we would never do. And then, on good days, the momma of times past surfaces to show love, support, understanding and compassion that we remember with great fondness.
Momma, I love you just as you are, as you loved and still love us. Your memory has been realigned, but your heart for the last 64 years has been the best momma to me.
I’m old and blessed…hope you will be too.
oldblessedwordpresscom 
A very beautiful tribute to your mom.
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Thanks. Interestingly, I didn’t view it as such at the time I wrote it. I guess our scribblings can acquire new meaning over time.
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It unfolded just as it should have.
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Reblogged this on oldblessedwordpresscom and commented:
I spent some time thinking about what I should write to honor my mother this year on Mother Day. I couldn’t come up with anything better than what I bogged two years ago. Here it is:
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Having also lost my mom to Alzheimer’s, it is very easy to relate to what you said.
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This is so beautiful, and so beautifully heartbreaking. I can feel myself there beside you, beset by feelings of love and honor that frustration and impatience threaten to break through. But love prevails. The heartbreak of Alzheimer’s, a thief in the night.
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Thanks for reading and responding. This culprit (Alzheimer’s) has taken two of my loved ones over the last few years, my mom and her sister-in-law. I went to a birthday party of a brother-in-law of mine this past Saturday, who’s also a captive of this horrid robber of faculties. I’m finding myself wondering if I’ll be a victim, too, especially when I can’t remember where I put my car keys, wallet or some implement common to daily living. But, then I have to remember, I’m almost 71 years old. The warranty on all of my part expired years ago. (“The warranty on all of my parts expired years ago”…sounds like the title of blog, doesn’t it?)
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Indeed! Could also be a great song! You have a marvelous attitude. 😍
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