For My Mom

It's been more than two weeks since my last post. And life has changed. Running didn't take on the same meaning, nothing took on the same meaning during these two weeks. My mom went into the hospital on April 13. She died on April 21 -- my birthday.

In many ways, this was a tremendous blessing. My mom had Alzheimer's. Most days she experienced all of the indignities of this ugly disease. On her good days, she experienced terror and depression, realizing what was happening to her.

My mom was my best friend until I was about 18. We sort of lost our way with one another after that. She was not the easiest person to love sometimes as all of my family will tell you, but we did love her. During the last week of her life, I uncharacteristically went to the hospital each morning around 6:45 to be with her for a while before work. I got up an hour early each morning to go. Normally, it's all I can do to get up 20 minutes after hitting the snooze a few times. It's as if my body knew I needed to be with her this time.

Each day I would expect to see her sitting up in bed. My mom had been sick with various problems her whole life and she always came back no matter how bad the situation. She almost died when I was 7 after losing half her blood. But each morning, she wasn't better. Nor was she better in the afternoons when I came back.

I would sit and talk with the nursing staff or hold Mom's hand and try to talk with her. With each passing day, her ability to communicate weakened. She could start her sentences but would mumble the rest. At first I thought it was the drugs they were giving her to calm her so they could medicate her heart. Then they took her off the anti-anxiety meds and still her sentences would trail off. She knew what she was trying to say but the words just weren't coming. She wouldn't hardly eat or drink after the first day.

That week she was hospitalized was healing for me -- and her I think. We spent time together. I held her hand, kissed her cheeks, told her I loved her. We even spent a special moment on the day she died. I was born at 8:05 a.m. so that day I stayed on most of the morning. At the exact moment of my birth, I reminded her that 48 years ago in that very hospital she was pushing me out into the world. And I asked her if she'd like to give me a commemorative "push." She broke into a big smile.

She died very peacefully that evening. And while I was very upset initially that it happened on my birthday, my uncle put it in perspective for me. He said: You can now remember this as your birthday and your mothers' rebirthday. That feels pretty good.

My mom no longer is agitated, anxious, forgetful, fearful. She no longer is terrified of losing her memory or horrified by moments of forgetfulness. Through it all her greatest fear was that she would one day not recognize her children. That never happened. She knew each us of throughout. For that I am grateful. Because in my mind, she won. She didn't let Alzheimer's rob her of everything. And that is no small victory.