This month marks the fifth anniversary of my mom’s death. The shocking thought has been spinning in my head for the past few weeks: I’m so glad my mom isn’t alive right now.
As the coronavirus pandemic progresses, I often find myself thinking about my mother who suffered from Lewy body dementia (LBD). If there was any hope of surviving this cruel disease, of course, I would wish that she were still alive. I miss my mom more than words can say.
The experience of losing my mother excruciatingly gradually to dementia and then permanently through death was heartbreaking. She was my best friend, trusted and my biggest support throughout life. How does one live without his mother?
And yet it could have been so much worse.
If my mom was still alive, she would have panicked about this pandemic, the riots, and the news about murder hornets. She would be glued to the television watching every terrifying detail.
LBD is a cruel combination of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s symptoms that left my mom defenseless both physically and mentally towards the end of her life. The disease is known to torment its victims with vivid hallucinations, delusions, and night terrors. Sometimes my mom was in a state of total panic because she thought there was a bear in the laundry room. I can’t imagine the paranoid delusions these scary times would have caused if she were still here.
And God forbid, if he were to become infected with the virus, a distinct possibility with his weakened immune system. I cannot conceive of the terror she would feel, confused by her dementia, without her loved ones by her side during her final days.
I think of the painful but moving final moments with Mom before she died. My heart breaks when I hear about those forced to be separated from their loved ones during their final hours. Precious time is being stolen from them to share meaningful stories, feelings and memories in the days, hours and minutes leading up to the moment of death. I am horrified when I read and hear about people trying to say goodbye virtually, deprived of those last intimate moments, holding hands and hugging their loved ones.
About a week before my mom died, amazingly, she became more alert than she had in months. “This feels like a party,” she said after noticing that her sister-in-law and an old friend of hers were visiting. She asked to put on her favorite lipstick and red rings and wanted a sip of wine. We happily granted all wishes. My mom talked about taking a trip to Maui together and we played Hawaiian music in the background. Later that day, Mom went to sleep feeling content.
That was the last time we were able to have a meaningful conversation with her. It was as if Mom came back to life briefly to say goodbye to her. But at that moment, her family and friends had the last chance to tell her how much we loved her. Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that and for such a precious gift, I am forever grateful.
The day my mom died, the hospice nurse warned me that my mom would probably pass away in the next two hours. She was right, but during those final moments, we were able to express our love for mom and tell her how much she meant to us for the last time. We promised that we would all take care of each other after she left her. We were able to kiss and hug her during our last moments together. Everyone deserves these precious moments.
Not to mention, people are deprived of being with loved ones who provide comfort after death. The sacred ritual of saying goodbye with funeral and memorial services with prayers and words of remembrance to honor the loved one was cruelly taken away.
I also think of caregivers of loved ones with dementia. The statistics are brutal. One in three older people die of Alzheimer’s or another form of dementia, while 15 million family caregivers care for someone with the disease. As if caring for a loved one with dementia isn’t isolating and stressful enough, I can’t even imagine what these unsung heroes are up against these days.
If any of this describes you, my thoughts and prayers are with you during this heartbreaking time.