And then my mother died…

I haven’t posted in a while. I was prepared to share about the stress of change and moving after selling our home of 20 years. About how we can grieve our old lives while embracing the new changes and opportunities. And then my mother died and everything changed.

She passed in May, 2026 at the age of 100. But I had been grieving and anticipating her death for over ten years. Her dementia symptoms began at least fifteen years ago. My dad had tried to compensate and cover up her confusion. The long pauses she needed to process. The forgetfulness. He made light of those times, chalking it up to old age for them both. Eventually, her memory and other losses were too great to mask.

My father never accepted her diagnosis. He thought she would miraculously remember, sometimes pushing her to recall events and people. He struggled with the slow loss of his lifelong partner up until his own death about 4 years ago. My sister was also in denial, prompting mom with names of visitors and almost testing her to remember events and stories from the past.  She would hold onto rare glimpses when she thought my mother was well, calling me with excitement and hoping mom would be better one day.

My mother was the consummate southern belle with impeccable manners. She was adept at covering her confusion with politeness and charm. Always smiling, it was hard not to believe she was well sometimes.  But I could leave the room to get her water and return where she would smile and share how glad she was to see me and ask why I had not come to see her in a “month of Sundays”.   I eventually accepted that she saw me as a kind man who visited her and made her laugh. Not her son, but a friendly face that made her happy in the moment.  And so, I existed with her in those happy moments while also grieving the loss of her each and every visit.   

We used to joke that she was “living her best life” to lessen the impact of seeing her diminish. She was doing all the things she loved. Watching TV. Eating waffles and bacon in bed every morning. Access to endless chocolate. Sitting in the sun and dozing.  I know she was comfortable and cared for.  We hoped she was experiencing a happy life, but we obviously had no idea.

When she passed away, I felt relief. It had been exhausting to watch Mom’s world shrink and to lose pieces of her each time I saw her. Initially I thought, “Ok. This is done now. I can just move forward after the funeral”.  Quickly, I noticed much more. Enormous waves of guilt for feeling relief.  Anger that I didn’t have more time with her before.  Wishing I had more time at her side even when she couldn’t speak, just holding hands in the sun.  Deep sadness and feeling adrift. All the while functioning through life because I have to.

A few months have gone by, and the grieving process for me continues and changes. I think of mom often and wonder what she thought about the last years of her life. I miss talking with her, my biggest cheer leader. I talk about her with my wife, my sister, and my sons. I’m beginning to understand the size of the hole in my life. And that’s ok. My experience in loss is unique to me, just like yours is for you.

I’m sure I will write about her again. I’ll also talk about the other changes in my life, too.  All in good time.  Until then, reach out to those you love.  And be well.