"¿A donde esta tu mai?" "Where is your mother?" My grandmother casually asks me as we wait in the waiting room. As she looks at me inquisitively, it takes me a minute to realize she's just asked me where my mother is. "My mother?!?" At this moment, I am instantly forced to realize that she is slowly fading away. Yes, she is still lucid the majority of the time but dementia is rearing its ugly head. Begrudgingly, I have to remind her that no one has seen my mother in over 30 years. Looking in her eyes, I can see the confusion. Even now, I don't know if she fully understands what I've told her.
Unexpectedly, I am filled with sadness and feel heartbroken. My mother's disappearance has always been an open sore for the family. While we've processed her disappearance differently, her absence is felt by all of us. Today is her birthday. I don't know whether to say she would have been 60 or to say she is turning 60. But on this day, 60 years ago, she was brought into this world. Although 60 is most definitely not old, it's also not young. She is past middle age and almost classified as a senior. The last time I saw my mother, she wasn't even 30 years. I am now older than she was when she was last seen. Its unreal that 30 years have passed since she's been gone.
However, it is not her void that fills me with sadness and breaks my heart. In that moment, it dawns on me that I don't know how much longer my grandmother's essence will remain with her. How long before she doesn't recognize who any of us are? "God, please let me see my daughter again" was a constant prayer for my grandmother. I remember her crying on New Year's Eve because she wanted to know what happened to her child. All these years, she's still asking for that child but this time, it's as if its been days since she's seen her daughter, not years. I guess in her confusion, time has no meaning.
For me, time means everything. Before the pandemic, I remember thinking the dementia was stealing the time I had with her. However, the pandemic came and robbed me of 13 months of hugging and kissing her. Due to the side effects of the stroke and the dementia, speaking to her on the phone is difficult. Visits where we had to sit across from one another without any physical touch felt cold and empty. I'm grateful we can finally embrace and frequently find myself reaching out to touch her, even if for just a moment. I want to show her how much I love her and how much she means to me.
I don't know where my mother is. And it feels like too soon, I won't know where my grandmother's mind has roamed. The fact that she "forgot" that she has ached for her daughter for all of these years, reminds me that eventually, she will "forget" all of us. Until then, I will enjoy the time we have left.
As always, thanks for reading and take care.
