My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s five years ago. It’s
incredible how dramatically your life can change with a single piece of news.
My grandmother died of the disease five years before, so I thought I knew what
to expect when doctors gave our family the diagnosis. In actuality, nothing
could truly prepare me for the loss of a parent. For me, and perhaps many
others, the really torturous aspect of the disease is witnessing the passing of
a loved one over an extended period of time - and there is little you can do.
The helplessness is overwhelming.
My mother has always been there – an unwavering source of support,
strength and devotion. My memories of her (and us) are still clear. I remember
how she skipped (literally) with me to ballet classes. How when I was four she
ran, in heels no less, down the streets of New York, carrying me to the doctor
as I wailed due to a painful ear infection. I don’t remember the pain, but I
remember hugging her neck as I bounced up and down as she ran, one of the only
times I ever saw my mother’s pace increase past a leisurely stroll. I remember
how she would bundle me and my brother up in the small hours of Thanksgiving
morning in preparation for watching the Macy’s Day Parade outside. I remember
how she baby-powdered my sandy feet after a day at the beach, how we would eat
Smarties together during visits to London, and how we would discuss for long
periods of time how to navigate childhood friendships, and later, boyfriend
relationships.
For her those memories are no longer clear. Or if they are, they are
buried somewhere deep inside and she is unable to communicate them. My last
birthday, I explained over dinner what day it was, which usually would have
resulted in her recounting the hours of labour and days spent recuperating in
the hospital. Instead this time, there was a blank stare.
The memories of my mother are a stark reminder of how different things
are and will continue to be. I know she will never see me get married,
something that would have made her incredibly happy. I know that my future
husband and children will never know how truly wonderful she was. And if I
could do anything to bring her back, I would. But as I cannot, I will continue
to hug her as many times as I can, hoping it has the same power to comfort us
as it did before, and to commit myself to helping ensure that a cure is found
for this horrendous disease and that support is given to those suffering.
This November I will run the New York
City Marathon with team Run2Remember. While it won’t be in heels(!), it will be
honoring all those affected by Alzheimer’s, especially my mother.
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