Mother

She brought me into this world. She raised me to be the person I am, and I love her. Now she sits languishing in an "assisted living facility" about an hour away from us. Alzheimer's is taking its morbidly progressive toll.

As we entered the room though, her face lit up with pure joy making the entire visit so worthwhile. It was only after a few moments that I realized that she thought I was my father (Husband #2) and my son was the teenage version of me. (Son #3) Reality finally eased in, I think, and we spoke of plans and family and friends. She smiled and laughed and helped us remember when the smiles and laughter were more knowing and more intentional.

She's traveled a bumpy path. Her battles with ill health have drug on for more than 40 years. I don't know anyone who thought she would make it this far- she'll turn 80 in two months. I remember as a teenager serving her as she lay in bed for months, recovering from the first of a long string of "we can fix this" surgeries. Two knee replacements, two hip replacements, and a heart valve replacement later, she is quasi-living proof of the miracles of medicine. Her three marriages, flood of family deaths and drama, and a personal life rife with tumult and pain led to an existence of always trying to scrape by and a find a way. So many skeletons in so many closets. I'm sure there are many that will come out only after her passing. Now her way is simply sitting there, quietly staring out the window.

I wonder what she sees in her mind's eye. A bit absent- a bit gone. But you can see the wheels slowly turning. Realities blend to suit her current mode and mood, as it was with my being my father.

There are times I think they should call them "assisted dying facilities."