Leaking - Reflections on Mothering without a Mom

I found myself sobbing uncontrollably in the car on the way home from a perfectly lovely weekend with a friend in Lethbridge.  While listening to a podcast I heard a phrase “Motherless mothering”. Suddenly the image of my mom was front and centre nearly blocking my view of the road.

My mom died in 2014 but she had left us long before.  The ever-quickening slide into dementia began around 2008 or so and we watched her become a mere ghost of her former self.  My mom died with many of her stories still left in her so I’ve taken it upon myself to give voice to her life.  It seems only right, after all, as it was she who gave me my love of stories – of both listening to them and telling them.

I came up with the idea of writing a book – an historical fiction of sorts, from the perspective of someone with dementia.  I have the details of how to do it firmly mapped out but to get there I first need to tell mom’s story – who she was and how she came to be.  I’ve been writing stories based on her life, some of them funny, some of them struggling, some of them heart breaking.  Somehow, I didn’t anticipate that in doing so the pain of her loss would completely envelop me, encompassing me in her life, her influence, her imperfections and her gifts and making me yearn for her presence.  I want to ask her how I’m doing.  I want to call her after a tough day as I used to do.  I want to share with her the good news and the mundane, the successes and the struggles.

Out of my family of seven, only three of us are left and only two of us still speak.  I never thought of myself being on my own, expected to succeed or fail based solely on my own capacity.  I never thought I’d have to parent by myself, that I’d have no one to take an interest in the mundane details of my life.  I never thought that I’d have to do this without my mom for so long.

I will continue to give voice to her story – the ones before her frontal lobe began to shrink and the more confusing and disjointed ones that started as dementia took a hold of her.  I do so knowing that for at least the next while my mom will be blocking my view – her image front and centre and one that I must peek around to see my own life.  Truth be told I am compelled to write because I fear that I too will one day disappear into the fogginess of dementia.

I’m leaking out all over the place.  I’ll be better soon.  But right now, I really miss my mom.