This is my mother. I recently visited her in the nursing home that has taken charge of her. We went to buy her some clothes, and my uncle found this toy dog to give her. She loved it. Talked of nothing else for an hour. Look at the teeth, she said. See the teeth? This dog has great teeth. Have you seen this dog’s teeth? Look at these teeth.
My mother is eighty. She has alcoholic dementia.
She was a genius, once. Literally, over the top brilliant. She made it hard to learn anything from anybody but her. Now look. Nothing much left to learn from her, I think. She’s done. She’s very much done. And it’s such a shame.
She supposedly quit drinking for a little while, when I was a kid. But I think really, now that I know what it looks like, now that I know her better: she was drinking even then. When she stood me against the wall and warned me never to trust her if she started drinking… she was drinking already. Otherwise, why would she warn me with such intensity? Of course she was drinking. But I was a kid, so what would I know?
When she started officially drinking again, I couldn’t do much. None of us could. We tried, then we tired of it; one by one, we gave up. She moved with her husband across the country in ‘96; he gave up about five years later. I kept trying for a while, but I gave up too, about eight years ago. They always say you have to, you know. You have to leave your abusive drunks behind. So I finally did.
It may have been a mistake. She found a conman who happily kept her drunk and stole every penny she had, then left her in a nursing home with no contact information. I found her there, all gone. Depleted, like a shell on a beach.
But she’s content finally. She’s so far out of her mind, she’s happy as a little child. No worries or cares. Almost nothing there at all. When I asked her if she liked the toy her brother got for her, she said, “Oh, yes. I do. It makes me very happy… and also, it makes me want to kill.”
Trust me, Mom. I know the feeling.
(Note: my mother died last year about two weeks after I wrote this. I thought I shouldn’t post this piece after that, at least not directly after that. But I am posting it now.)
this is really beautiful. i’m sorry it’s true though.
Moving. Thank you for sharing. <3
lols to the iconic pic representing me and my comment!
Cass, I so empathise with that ‘better get it over’ blog guilt/shame. You may blog rarely, but judging from this post, when you do, it’s so worth reading. I’m going to follow you now, even if you don’t blog for a year.
That is a moving article. I am caregiver for an elderly parent who has Dementia and 100% PTSD. For the past 4 years it just keeps getting tougher. My father has addictions as well, although I got the drinking to stop I had to medicate him to do so. I think of writing my story but talk myself out of it. I thank you for sharing your story, it is difficult. As a caregiver on the verge of giving up I can relate on the issues you faced before you said enough. You sound like you have come to terms with it. I look at each day as a blessing and know that in the near future my story will take yet another turn. Have a wonderful day – and thank you again for sharing.