A Journeys End
They say that she is not in pain,
but her eyes say that she is filled with sorrow.
Isn’t living in sorrow being in constant pain?
Can you imagine what it is like not having a memory.
Not remembering what you ate for lunch or if you ate lunch at all.
Not knowing where your family is and believing that they deserted you.
Not knowing where you are when you wake up in the morning.
Not knowing where you are when you go to sleep at night.
Not knowing how to dress or to use a fork. Not knowing what different foods are and what they taste like.
Not knowing who all these people are, but they know you.
She tries so hard to remember, but she cannot.
She is 90 years old, but asks for her own mother every day.
“Where’s momma?” she asks. “I want to buy her something.”
She is in a nursing home now, but thinks she is in school.
She is still my mother, although not the one I grew up with.
She is still my mother, and I am so grateful that she remembers my name.
In spite of this awful disease, there is this little miracle.
Her face lights up when she sees me and for a moment she remembers.
I can barely remember what she was like before this dreadful illness took control of her soul, but I have learned to love who she is now.
They say that she is not suffering, but she is.
She is suffering every minute of every day.