Adulting is relentless. How did I not realize just how relentless it would be? I have been dealing with my mother’s worsening dementia for quite a few years now. At the same time, I have been parenting my own young children. And it is hard. The duties of adulthood and parenthood, both small and large, just keep coming, regardless of how drained I am. The worst part of all? My mom is still here… but she isn’t. She isn’t here for me to partner with, laugh with, or cry with.
Years ago, I watched my own mother in a very similar situation. She had both teenagers and a toddler, cared for her mother as she declined into dementia, and kept our household running. I knew she worked hard. But as a teenager, I must admit that I was self-centered. I was focused on my own grief, my own young adult dramas, and my own desires and dreams. I never realized just how hard it must have been for her. Now, I want to tell her that I truly see her – her battles, her sacrifices, her victories. But I can’t – because she is here… but she isn’t.
Now that I realize just how difficult it must have been, I want to talk to her about it. I want to have long conversations with my mom like I used to, chatting into the night about my fears, worries, hopes, and dreams. I want to tell her stories of my children. I want to discuss how they challenge me like I did her. I want to tell her how they make me smile and laugh. I want to tell her how she shaped me as a person and a mother. I want to tell her all the things she was right about. And, of course, I want to tell her all the things I still maintain I was right about. While our relationship always had its challenges, she was in many ways my longest and closest friend. Now we have reached a stage of life where we truly could become deeper friends, and I just want to share my life with her. She is here… but she isn’t.
I usually blog from the perspective of being a parent. Right now, I can’t. All I can think about is being a daughter myself. A daughter facing enormous grief while trying to keep moving forward parenting her own children. And sometimes, it’s just all too much. Sometimes, I don’t have any well-packaged lessons or tips gleaned from my own experience. Sometimes I am just suffering. But here’s the thing about parenting – it never stops. I guess that is the closest I will come to a lesson here. Being the daughter of a mother who is here… but isn’t…is unbelievably difficult and full of grief.
Parenting and adulting are relentless. And all too often, they must be faced without the comfort of talking to and laughing with our own mothers. Somehow, I never really pictured what this would be like. I guess we never really do. But here I am, putting one foot in front of the other, even when tears blur my vision, and it seems so hard to keep walking. To all those adulting in similar circumstances, I see you. I am you. Keep going. I don’t know if I will ever get used to this. But I will keep hugging my own children, just the way my mother hugged me all those years. And I will hope that the love I surround them with is enough to carry them through the time, hopefully, many decades from now, when they too will have to face adulting without me. For now, I will hug my own mom as often as I can. I have a feeling knowing she is here, but she isn’t will only be dwarfed by the pain I will feel when she is no longer here at all.
