She’s 90 years old now, a little bit of nothing, but stronger than any two men. She has Alzheimer’s/dementia that plays cruel tricks on her every day, but she knows exactly where she is every minute, who and what she likes and dislikes, which, by the way, she will tell you in no uncertain terms, and she still calls me Sharon, or my favorite, Daughter. She’s ill-tempered, argumentative and combative, funny, sweet, loving, endearing, and grateful for any kindness she’s shown. She is still my mother, just in a different way.
But even with all she endures, she wakes up every morning, itching to battle her way through another day. She is an inspiration. She will leave this world on her own terms, when she’s too tired or sick to fight any more, and when she and God decide it’s time. I have to fight alongside her until that time comes because I promised her I would. And why not? She is still my mother, just in a different way.
As for me, I am my mother’s caregiver. At this stage of my life, that is the most important thing there is to know about me. Over the years I worked in banking, retail, sales, and finally acted as publisher and managing editor of my own community magazine. I worked tirelessly at every position I held, always accepted responsibility, even welcomed it, and it’s a darn good thing because for the past eight years, I have had the most challenging, stressful, physically demanding, emotionally and mentally draining job of all: my mother’s around-the-clock caregiver/protector/mother/daughter/friend. And this job, which I do without reservation, is by far the most important and rewarding.
God bless each and every caregiver around the world and may He grant you, and me, the courage and strength to make it through another day.
