Dear Mom,
I'm in Chapel Hill visiting Dad (but I expect that you know that). Carolina is on TV - playing Notre Dame. They're having a tough season. Oh well! They are SO YOUNG. Isn't it crazy?
Dad's birthday is on Thursday. He doesn't want a fuss. NO PARTY, he says. Don't worry - I'm going to make him a delicious carrot cake. David and Lauri will come over and we will celebrate him properly.
I've started going through some of your things. The cosmetics were easy - all thrown out (except that Origins "anti-aging" cream)... what a funny concept. I'm keeping it. I've slathered it over my face and will do so every night until it's empty. Will it take off a year? Could it take off two? Could we go back to maybe 5 and have a few more days together?
The drawers in your desk are taking more time. You have such beautiful cards! And I have found many photos - how lucky we are to have them. What I see over and over are notes about Eleanor. You have saved her cards to you and written little notes about her accomplishments over the years. What a proud Grandmother you were/are. I know you still are. I can feel you there cheering her on.
Mom - I've been going through your day calendars. I can see when the disease started progressing. It was rapid, Mom. Your handwriting changed dramatically. You suddenly were not able to spell. I can tell that you were trying so hard to stay on top of things - and the disease just took over. How awful this must have been for you. I can't imagine how it must have felt. I'm so so very sorry.
I've thrown out all of the hospice and medical notes. I know you don't want us to hold on to those. Done.
It's only February 17th, but it looks like spring in Chapel Hill today. Daffodils are blooming and the yellow flowers of forsythia are popping up around town. Although the color is beautiful, it is disturbing. It's too soon. It's not spring. Oh, Mom - the world is a mess. What is going to happen?
Change of subject! Did you know that we are going to go back to Sunset Beach this year?? We got that house we have always wanted to rent. Dad will have a great view to look over the marsh and all the birds. Hooray! It will be just a bit after Eleanor's graduation - so a good celebration for all of us.
I miss you, Mom. I miss you deep deep deep down in my soul. I've been wanting to call you to tell you funny stories about my zoo work... and to tell you about Eleanor's last semester in college... and about Tod's motorcycle adventures. I want to update on what's going on with my friends... and to tell you about Dixie the dog and about her brother Matt's art shop (you would LOVE it)... and I REALLY want to tell you about my upcoming trip to England.
But - somehow, I sense that you know all of this. I'm not sure how it works. I'm not sure what it all means - but I think you know. And I do feel you there/here. And that's how I move forward.
I love you, Mom.
I'm in Chapel Hill visiting Dad (but I expect that you know that). Carolina is on TV - playing Notre Dame. They're having a tough season. Oh well! They are SO YOUNG. Isn't it crazy?
Dad's birthday is on Thursday. He doesn't want a fuss. NO PARTY, he says. Don't worry - I'm going to make him a delicious carrot cake. David and Lauri will come over and we will celebrate him properly.
I've started going through some of your things. The cosmetics were easy - all thrown out (except that Origins "anti-aging" cream)... what a funny concept. I'm keeping it. I've slathered it over my face and will do so every night until it's empty. Will it take off a year? Could it take off two? Could we go back to maybe 5 and have a few more days together?
The drawers in your desk are taking more time. You have such beautiful cards! And I have found many photos - how lucky we are to have them. What I see over and over are notes about Eleanor. You have saved her cards to you and written little notes about her accomplishments over the years. What a proud Grandmother you were/are. I know you still are. I can feel you there cheering her on.
Mom - I've been going through your day calendars. I can see when the disease started progressing. It was rapid, Mom. Your handwriting changed dramatically. You suddenly were not able to spell. I can tell that you were trying so hard to stay on top of things - and the disease just took over. How awful this must have been for you. I can't imagine how it must have felt. I'm so so very sorry.
I've thrown out all of the hospice and medical notes. I know you don't want us to hold on to those. Done.
It's only February 17th, but it looks like spring in Chapel Hill today. Daffodils are blooming and the yellow flowers of forsythia are popping up around town. Although the color is beautiful, it is disturbing. It's too soon. It's not spring. Oh, Mom - the world is a mess. What is going to happen?
Change of subject! Did you know that we are going to go back to Sunset Beach this year?? We got that house we have always wanted to rent. Dad will have a great view to look over the marsh and all the birds. Hooray! It will be just a bit after Eleanor's graduation - so a good celebration for all of us.
I miss you, Mom. I miss you deep deep deep down in my soul. I've been wanting to call you to tell you funny stories about my zoo work... and to tell you about Eleanor's last semester in college... and about Tod's motorcycle adventures. I want to update on what's going on with my friends... and to tell you about Dixie the dog and about her brother Matt's art shop (you would LOVE it)... and I REALLY want to tell you about my upcoming trip to England.
But - somehow, I sense that you know all of this. I'm not sure how it works. I'm not sure what it all means - but I think you know. And I do feel you there/here. And that's how I move forward.
I love you, Mom.
Hi, I can see that these blog posts where made a while ago but I wanted to comment that it felt very important for me to read these so thank you for writing. My mom has PCA and there is not many who understand what my family is going through. It is a horrible thing and I would do anything to get my mom back as she was before.
ReplyDeleteThank you for writing these. I find them comforting. My mother has PCA and I’ve felt so alone navigating this. I can tell you (as a person experiencing this along with my mom) how deeply sorry I am that you all lived with with this. Mom recently moved in with my husband and myself. Right now there are more good moments than not, but I see the changes in her condition evolving so quickly. Knowing that the inevitable is around the corner makes my stomach knot. I hate this disease so much. It’s so damn cruel. But you’ve giving me a little peace of mind that another family has struggled through this and that my anger, sadness and frustration is valid. Thank you.
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