My mother is over 100 years old. Seven months over to be precise. Still reasonably able-bodied and upright but entangled in the demise of dementia.
Her condition and the impact it has on her relationship to life constitutes a part of reality which I frequently questioned. I did not understand why she continues to remain in this realm, holding on to what I considered to be the meagre crumbs of life. Where is the quality of life for her? What is the purpose of her life now?
These are questions that did little more than usher in sadness for me, underlining a sense of helplessness to stay the tide of decline. Such thinking with its negative descriptive narrative would often plague me in those sleepless hours of the night, where the dark so easily accentuates the gloom and doom of anything.
I’m well aware that questioning my mother’s purpose in life is not my business, and that staying within the delineations of that which is my business is hugely beneficial. So why did I stray? ‘Because she is my mother’, is the first response that arises. It is difficult to apply the “rules” when bonds run deep, but even more so when one is an empath, where sensitivity can leave your receptors feeling raw. But the bombardment of questions without answers, besides being pointless, induced unrelenting anguish.
There are of course other “rules” to heed or rather use, concepts that can only help, such as accepting what is. That is a golden rule to live by, but somehow the “she is my mother” bit, elbowed its way in between me and peace. There was a dire need for change. In me. So I began with accepting the questions, instead of resisting them, deciding to let them play out until peace at least glimmered on my emotional horizon. With such an intention set, one that included a form of acceptance, a softening of my inner struggle was bound to happen, while increasing an awareness to other possible interpretations.
And it did, with the help of synchronicity, as I came across this snippet by Danielle LaPorte, “We look at the present through the lens of our past.”
Knowing how capable and vibrant my mother used to be, had fuelled my resistance to how she is now - the unfairness of it, even cruelty, compounded by the fact that she is being denied a dignified departure.
All my thinking, all foundationless.
Despite her condition, my mother is still lucid in the moment, but generally unable to hold on to the essence of that moment for long, and so given to repeating her questions. But she can still enjoy a good joke and laugh heartily, still appreciate nature’s beauty, and still show her love for her family.
Her inability to hold onto each moment allows her to live in the present where regrets of the past and anxieties for the future no longer hijack her attention. Just being takes centre stage allowing whatever will be to be, without the nag of any ‘have to’ or ‘should’, without the demands of status eclipsing the real needs of food and shelter.
Her dependency on others to shower and dress her, jars with our sensibility, melting the line between dignity and necessity. It may well appear to be a harsh dependency, but aren’t we all dependent? The mere act of conveying these words to you is dependent on a whole chain of able bodies to fulfil each link in the processes of digital communication. Everything we use is offset by a chain of dependencies.
Her life represents the polar opposite of the life that most of us chase, one that is often beset by a substratum of quiet desperation. The transitionary confusion she seemed to experience when the tendrils of dementia first reached out to her, appears to have largely abated. And now, if confusing moments do arise, they are, like any other moment, fleeting. Her life is different from how it used to be, but different doesn’t mean worse. Her days offer little variety, but now is enough to focus on.
Her analytical skills may have dulled but she is still aware and receptive to joy. When she has sweets, she will happily eat one after the other. It’s up to someone else to monitor her intake, but guilt or greed do not spoil her pleasure. She’s let go of such concepts. In fact, she has let go of much that belongs at the level of Froth such as freneticism, worry, anxiety, the sense of lack and need for more be it time, money, space and so on.
I realise that my former questions were embedded in a narrative that was based on an out-of-date life style rationalisation, one I sought to impose on my mother’s life. Questioning the purpose of her life has absolutely no relevance, and the question itself has no purpose in her life. The fact is, that she is.
I am grateful for the turn around in my thinking regarding my mother - anguish has dissolved into acceptance. Of course I haven’t actually experienced life so fully immersed in the now as she does, and without the influence of that experience, I concede that I do still favour retaining a sense of autonomy (as I know it) over my life and therefore an earlier exit from this realm. But should that not happen, I believe that the loss of autonomy would soon lose its significance and not concern me, just as it doesn’t a toddler or baby. Each phase of life has its charm, a charm that is only shattered by probing for deeper meaning. Each passage of life, like each river, will flow from its unique spring, eventually surrendering to the vast ocean of unity.
Everything is as it should be, and our acceptance of that carries the supreme grace of peace.
As it is not that unusual now to live into the nineties, more and more likely experiencing the very thoughts, and feelings as Gill has for her mum's situation. How reassuring for them to hopefully draw comfort from Gill's insightful comments, so turning their "anguish into acceptance". Bravo Gill!
Thank you for exposing your personal struggle regarding this subject - and for, as you do so well, guiding others towards finding acceptance from anguish - others who suffer with what we perceive to be the suffering of our loved ones. I love this: "Everything is as it should be", and as usual I thoroughly enjoy and respect your writing style.