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I miss my mom.
Not quite sure why. I mean, she wasn’t the best mom - she was emotionally and physically abusive. But, we survived, my sister, brother and me, so I guess that’s something.
She didn’t kill us, so, yay?
I’m not sure what I miss exactly. Maybe just….home. Maybe…what could have, should have been. Nostalgia.
Now, though, she’s just old. An old lady, with dementia, who needs help getting dressed and remembering to eat.
But….she’s still her….to her core, she’s still her. The mean one. The belittling one, the combative one, the mean one, the awful one. Still her. Underneath.
You still see her. The old her, the one who could cut you with a glance. The one who could bring you to your knees with a word, with a look. The one you were afraid to talk to as a teenager, as a small child, even as an adult. The one you were just afraid of.
And I’m so sad.
Sad that this is how it ends for her. Sad that this is how this story ends for me, for my brother and my sister.
I still fear her a bit. I also still crave her approval. I still want her to tell me that she likes my hair (she never has), that she doesn’t think I’m fat (she always has), that she thinks I’m pretty, that she loves me no matter what.
You know, all those things I didn’t hear growing up. All those things I heard the OPPOSITE of, growing up.
It would be nice to finally hear those things now.
Even through the dementia lens, I would still take it. I would pretend she really meant it and really felt it and really thought it.
I don’t think that’s likely though. I think she’ll pass on and all those words will be unsaid, maybe even unthought by her.
And I’m sad. For her, for me, for all of us. Sad.
It fucking sucks.
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