I never want to be like my mother

Most people have uttered those words about their mother in their lifetime; whether under their breath, behind her back or even a brave few have said it to her face. Our fearless mothers are the mavens of discipline, the custodians of manners and the matriarchs of our family values. For most, there have been many disagreements with mom and we professed we never wanted to be like her when we grew up. Afterall, what does she know and how could she possibly understand us?

My mother is the youngest of four girls from a well respected family. The apple of her father’s eye; a wealthy descendant of ship chandlers, she longed for nothing in her life. In her generation my mother was privileged to attend teachers college, complements of her mother; a beloved educator. Despite these luxuries, my mother’s sole aspiration in life was to marry the man of her dreams and raise a family. Five daughters later, my mother epitomized marital and domestic bliss with the picture-perfect home that would make even June Cleaver and Martha Stewart green with envy.

With complete devotion and pride, my mother hand-sewed five perfectly coordinated sets of gingham bedspreads and pillow shams for her daughters; I still have my lime green set. She would tenderly braid the hair of her five girls and tie coordinating ribbons at the ends to match our dresses. As my sisters and I cultivated our own lives, we would swiftly call mom to ask for a recipe, seek her advice or approval of life’s moments. My mom was at the birth of each grandchild; never missed a birthday; was an ear to bend during an argument with our husband; and was the shoulder to cry on during despair.

I spoke with my mom today and she struggled to talk. My mother commences the conversation by asking who I am; she does not remember any of her five daughters let alone her own name. My mom has lived with Alzheimer’s for over six years and it has hastily deteriorated a strong, intelligent mother, wife, sister, daughter, grandmother and friend. She cannot make a piece of toast, brush her teeth or even put on her socks. My mom cannot complete a sentence and makes random ramblings no one can interpret. My mom has been examined by medical specialists throughout Canada, been prescribed experimental medicines and has participated in all available treatments; - each time with a new hope that quickly fades.

Although mom is alive in body, her mind and spirit died when Alzheimer’s took hold. For the family, we have no choice but to endure an agonizing torment minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day as we watch her quality of life deteriorate. Despite our consummate wealth to afford our mother anything she needs we are powerless over this disease. We can never free her of this evil.

I never want to be like my mother.