This past year with my Mom living with us, presented the expected in equal parts with the unexpected. The expected was my moms continued mental decline, the most notable unexpected, that she was still in our home by years end.  I honestly am surprised that it continued to be the right thing to do, still caring for her at home. Yes, some days throughout 2017 did feel more a challenge than others.   But on the whole, the year twisted and turned to an end the same way it began, with us caring for a person with Alzheimer’s in our home.

So I found myself on New Years Eve, my mom sitting in her chair watching TV and me watching my mother.  As I looked at her profile, wondering what she might be thinking, my thoughts raced back to a childhood memory that has always made me feel so close to my mother.

I think I must have been in kindergarten or first grade and we were living in Nogales, AZ.  I went to a Catholic school that was located up a hill behind our house. My little girl mind remembers a dark forest that separated our house from the school that we had to pass through each day as we walked to school. In reality I am sure it was a vacant lot of trees and shrubs but it frightened me to walk through it alone all the same.

In the mornings I had my older brother and sister to accompany me, but I was released from class at an earlier time and so I had to navigate the trail back to our house all alone. To this day I can remember the fear as I ran through the forest alone  (which I am sure was no longer than 100 yards). But what kept me moving was the knowledge that my mother would be waiting for me on the other side.

I can still remember the feeling of breaking out into the clear and looking down the slope to see my mom standing in the backyard waiting for me.  I would run down the hill and into her arms like I was just returning from a journey of weeks and miles. I was always so thrilled to see her standing there waiting for me to come home.

Now a curious mind might ask why my mother, who clearly knew this trek sacred the poop out of me, didn’t just walk to school to escort me home. But that would assume a different mother at the helm.  Mine was the same one who kicked us out of the house every summer day and told us to play outside until 3:00 pm.  If we came inside we had to do chores, so outside we stayed until the appointed hour.  Although I never felt coddled I always felt loved, supported and taken care of by my mother.  I know now that was a gift, one for which I am very grateful.

Back to present, I start the first day of this year as I did the last, helping my mother to the bathroom, answering her questions of “Where am I and why am I here?”, reminding her that Dad is gone and playing the name game so she can remember I am her daughter Monica. It is how we often start our mornings, all in an effort to help her feel safe and cared for as she awakens in confusion. It can get tedious and it does take some patience, but it’s part of the expected in our new world of living with a person who has dementia.

Will I end 2018 same as I started it?  Will it make sense to do this another year, to keep my mother at home with us as we try to normalize the abnormality of her disease? That of course is a question only time will answer.  But until then I plan to offer my mother that same feeling she gave me as I ran out of the forest and down the hill so many years ago. One of knowing someone will always be there with loving and open arms to calm her fears and keep her safe. It is the least I can do, and under the circumstances of a disease outside of our control, unfortunately it is the best I can do.

Wishing you all a 2018 full of your best, even in the least of circumstances.