My 72-year-old mum has dementia, and I’m in disbelief over the person she has become.
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| For illustration purposes only |
Every day, she drifts further away from the woman I knew, and it terrifies me.
She has good days. But the bad ones are stacking up.
One afternoon, she went into the kitchen to make tea and forgot why she was there. When I came in, she was staring at the kettle, confused, tears rolling down her face.
And then there are the nights when she calls me by the wrong name.
Sometimes, I’m her sister. Sometimes, I’m the neighbor who used to live next door when I was a child. And once, she looked at me with such cold detachment that it made my stomach drop.
Mum: "Why are you in my house?"
That one hurt the most.
Mum: staring at the mirror, her face twisted in confusion "Who is that woman? Why does she look like me?"
Me: "Mum, it’s you. That’s you."
Mum: "No, it can’t be. Who am I?"
Me: "You’re my mum. You’re the woman who raised me."
Mum: suddenly angry, turning on me "No, you’re lying! You’re trying to confuse me! I know what you’re doing!"
Me: "Mum, I’m not trying to confuse you. Please, let me help you."
Mum: hitting me across the arm "Get away from me!"
Me: wincing, voice trembling "Mum, please..."
Mum: her voice cold "I don’t know who you are. Get out of my room."
Me: eyes filled with tears, I start to back away "Mum, please, I’m here. It’s me."
Mum: her face hardens "Leave. I don’t know you."
It’s like this every day now. Some mornings, she wakes up and doesn’t recognize her own home. Sometimes she thinks I’m the one stealing from her. And other times—like today—she’s just angry.
I try to remind myself that it’s the disease. That this isn’t really her.
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| For illustration purposes only |
But God, it’s hard.
Mum: standing by the kitchen counter, "Where is it? Where’s my money?"
Me: "Mum, what’s going on?"
Mum: "I had money right here! It was right here! It’s gone!"
Me: trying to stay calm "Mum, I haven’t seen any money. Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?"
Mum: "Don’t lie to me! You think I don’t see? You’ve been taking from me, haven’t you? I know you’ve been stealing!"
[I freeze, unable to process what she’s saying]
Me: "Mum, I haven’t stolen anything from you. I swear."
Me: "Mum, please, I’m just trying to help. I haven’t touched your money."
Mum: slaps my hand away, her eyes filled with suspicion "You’re just like everyone else, trying to steal from me!"
Me: backing away, feeling the sting of her words "Mum, please, I’m your daughter. I haven’t done anything wrong."
Mum: "You think I’m stupid? You think I won’t know? You think I won’t remember? You’ve taken everything from me!"
Me: tears welling in my eyes "I didn’t take anything, I swear to you! I love you, Mum. Please, let me help you."
[I stagger back, trying to wrap my head around what she just said]
I could argue. I could yell. I could break down right here, let the tears fall, tell her how much this is breaking me.
But it wouldn’t matter. Because tomorrow, she won’t remember this fight.
Tomorrow, she’ll wake up and call me her good girl again.
And I’ll still be here, picking up the pieces of the mother I used to know.
Mum: slapping me hard across the face "You’re nothing but a thief! A liar!"
[I stare at her, unable to comprehend what I’m hearing]
Me: "Mum... please..."
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| For illustration purposes only |
Mum: "I want my money back... NOW!"
Me: "Mum, I don’t know where it is! Please... I didn’t take it!"
Mum: "Liar... liar..."
Mum: "I can’t... I can’t trust you..."
Me: "I’m still your daughter. I love you, Mum."
Mum: "I don’t... I don’t know what’s happening to me..."
[I lower my voice, trying to reassure her]
Me: "It’s the disease, Mum. It’s making you forget things, making you angry."
Mum: "I don’t want to forget... but I can’t remember... I don’t know who I am anymore."
Me: reaching for her hand, holding it gently "You’re still you, Mum. I’ll always remember you. Even when you don’t remember me."
Mum: her face softens for a moment, the anger melting away, replaced by confusion and vulnerability"I’m sorry, love... I didn’t mean it."
Me: "It’s okay. It’s not your fault."
Mum: closing her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek "I just want things to be... like they used to be."
Me: whispering, heart aching "I know, Mum. Me too."
Mum: faintly, as if speaking to herself "I’m so scared... I’m so scared..."
Me: holding her hand tighter, tears falling freely now "I know. I know you are."
[I look down, searching for strength]
Me: "Maybe it’s time. Maybe a care home is the only way to keep her safe... but can I really let go? Am I abandoning her, or just trying to protect her... and myself?"
Mum: from the other room, calling weakly "Where are you going?"
Me: shaken, turning around "Nowhere, Mum. Just... thinking."
Mum: voice trembling, faint "Don’t leave me."
[I speak softly, desperate to ease her panic]
Me: "I’m not leaving you. I just don’t know if I can do this all by myself anymore."
Mum: sounding confused, her voice cracking "You’re going to send me away, aren’t you? You don’t want me here anymore."
Me: "No, Mum. It’s not like that. I just... I can’t keep watching you fade like this. I don’t know how much more I can handle."
Mum: "I’ve always been here for you! How could you just... leave me?"
Me: "I’m not leaving you! I’m trying to find a place that can give you the care you need. I can’t do it alone anymore. Please understand."
Mum: shouting now "I don’t want your help! I don’t need anyone else but you!"
Me: "I just want you to be safe, Mum. I want to be able to breathe without feeling like I’m losing you every day."
[I feel the uncertainty weighing on me]
In the end, I can’t help but wonder: Am I betraying her by thinking about a care home, or am I just trying to get through this tough journey?
Some decisions don’t have simple answers, just the painful reality of doing what feels like the only option.
This story reflects one perspective and is shared to spark discussion and connection. While inspired by real situations, some details may have been altered for privacy and clarity.
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