I walked into her room. She was half off the bed, with no one around. She only had a gown on. She was trying to pull her catheter out. My 14 year old daughter by my side, looking at her Mimi with wide eyes.

My mom has become what she feared, what I feared. My mom is a shell. She is no longer in her body.

I think each person that experiences a family member with dementia views the loved one with different thoughts. Some believe that the victim of this horrible disease is still able to feel your presence, feel your love. However, I am not one those people.

I know my mom is gone.

When I look into my mom’s eyes, she no longer exist. She has been taken by this disease with vengeance.

As I looked at her, in the bed, I felt frustration start to overwhelm my body. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t fix this problem.

Her arms looked so small. Her legs that were once full of muscles, were now sticks. She was wasting away.

Her lunch was still on the table, untouched. It was now time for dinner and the food rejection would continue.

Her body is slowing shutting down. The things that once worked automatically are now unable to function without medical intervention.

Days prior we were asked by the comfort care nurses, “Do you want her to be placed on a feeding tube”? My sister and I knew the answer to this question before it was even asked.

No.

My mom wouldn’t approve. She wouldn’t want any medical intervention. However, often religion and political views make these decisions difficult.

Judgements make these decisions difficult.

After getting her back into bed, with the help from an aid, I looked at her face, her eyes blank, mouth dry, and cheek bones protruding.

Mom, you are ok. You can let go. You have made your mark on the planet. You will be remembered. You are my mom and I am proud of you. It is time to let go.

I know she didn’t hear me. I know she didn’t understand my words. I think my words were for me.

If I close my eyes and see my mom, she is in the garden. Her strong calves are keeping her stable. She is covered in dirt, holding a bucket and shovel. She has a dog, or two, by her side.

I am proud of you mom.