Sins of the Daughter

   I wear my regrets like a straight jacket.
 
   Up until this week, I believed there was no such thing as redemption.  No matter how hard I tried, the best I could hope for was resolution and the most I would expect is resignation.  With each passing year, the word  'Sorry'  became a shadow, something to hide the ghosts that were destined to haunt me for a lifetime.  And with the passage of time, I could only wish that I could gain the courage to walk through the shadows and face my demons, embrace them and pray they don't destroy me in the process.  And if we're truly lucky, we'll get to see that they really weren't demons after all, but rather brutal lessons pointing our way back home.


   There is nothing to prepare you for seeing someone you've known, loved and feared your whole life annihilated by Alzheimer's. 
   It defies words, feelings, humanity, transcends defining and goes beyond anything you can understand or explain.  It makes you question life itself, defies the presence of God, fairness and justice and leaves you stunned and empty.  It gives new meaning to helplessness and despair and touches your heart in ways it should never be touched.


   My whole life, from childhood to middle age, I never really saw my mother, nor she me.  I couldn't put our relationship in any category I could articulate, just figured we were two people related by blood and nothing more.  The only common ground we ever had was our great love for my father, her husband, and when he died seven years ago, I assumed we were done with each other.  We were estranged for many years and I honestly felt nothing about it.
   It wasn't until my youngest brother Gary called me three years ago to tell me our mother had Alzheimer's that all that had changed.  He told me I needed to speak to her while she was still somewhat lucid, that there was only a small window of time, that I would be forever haunted if I didn't.
   
   That phone call made all the difference in the world to me.  I was afraid, still, of what she might say, how she would receive me.  But the moment I heard her voice, listened to her words, I finally understood that this was not the enemy.  It was my mother.
   Her first words were  " All is forgiven.  I've missed you. "  We spoke for a few minutes, said our apologies and I love yous and hung up.  Ten minutes later, she called back to ask if I had really called her or was it a dream.  It was a  matter of months before she deteriorated to the point of no longer being able to do anything for herself, lucidity gone, being reduced to a phantom, fading into the shadows.  I tried to call her a few times a month, but with each conversation, she drifted further and further away.


   I got to see her this week after eight long years.  I was braced for the worst, expected nothing and thought, at best, I would get to say my good-byes without her returning the sentiments.  
   Nothing could have prepared me for our reunion.  And if I ever doubted the presence of God, this was the one solitary thing that cinched the deal.  I am now convinced that redemption comes to those who need it most, that souls are spared and we are indeed protected by something much greater than ourselves.
   I walked into her room and saw her in all her helplessness; small, emaciated, staring into space, wearing diapers, drool dripping down the side of her mouth, stripped of absolutely everything that made her who she was.  I walked into her line of vision, she locked her eyes into mine and I swear, for the first time in my life, I really saw her and she saw me.  Her face actually lit up, she smiled and called my name.