Card games, dominos, raspberry bushes and bright birthday boxes.

These are what I like to remember.

 

How incredibly selfish and unappreciative of me;

to be able to recall these precious moments with no second thought.

 

Utah has always been so very distant,

an 18 hour trek,

so we couldn't help that we rarely spoke, 

right?

 

As her days grow fewer this rationalization is my only possible defense

to the guilt I carry for our superficial relationship.

 

But how can I measure my upset with that of my mother's?

It is nothing compared to the pain I see in her eyes,

emitting ever so slowly

 with every passing phone call.
 

Alzheimer's is a monster slowly tearing her apart.

It's morphing her,

taking away her memory and with it her personality, her judgement.

My courageous mom chokes back the emotion to be strong for her kids.

"She just doesn't remember her family anymore."

 

The unpredictability,

too many variables,

so many things to go awry.

 

And what are we supposed to do?

It's a downward spiral.

"Put locks on her doors."

A prisoner in her own house.

When does it become okay to take away the choice of another?

 

We could bring her up here to live out her days in a rest home, 

home used in the loosest sense of the word,

until she passes and needs to be sent back.

We talk as though she is a package to be delivered instead of a part of our family.

 

So for now we wait.

Pray.

Hope.

Wonder.

Because that is all we can manage.

 

Do you ever feel inadequate?

Truly helpless in a swirling chaotic world.

Torturously cemented yet cooly drifting, suspended high in the air.