Today was a day I have secretly dreaded for a long time, the day when for the first time my mother didn’t recognise me. That I knew it would come does not really help. I try to be philosophical about it, looking for positive I seek in every challenge in life: the seemingly rapid progression of her illness may ironically be a blessing for her, if difficult for those who love her, because perhaps it means she will soon sink into oblivion, that she may no longer suffer as we have seen her do for so long now, that she may sooner be released and die, at last at peace.
I don’t believe in reincarnation or an afterlife* but if there is either, I am clear I want to be with my mother again one day; if not, then I am contented because I know I have said everything to her I need to for me to be at peace, even if either one of us should die tomorrow. I have told her endlessly how much I love her; thanked her for her unconditional love, support and trust; acknowledged her for her courage, her love of people and her accomplishments; cherished every lesson she taught, the gift of warmth in communication and those special moments both before and since her illness began. It is a strange irony that in sickness we come to truly value life and love and my dear mother has given me that too and I am privileged.
* so confirmed am I in a belief in both since a few weeks before my mother’s unexpected death, I feel compelled to mark it as my past
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