The Caregiver

The Caregiver
by Jessica Bryan
copyright July,2016

My mother... old...97 now, with Alzheimer's, stares blankly at the TV.

I ask her a question.  She searches futilely  for words that do not come.

I am annoyed and (unfairly) press her for an answer.

Is she the mirror reflecting my own destiny...the realization of my fears that I, to whom words are so important will someday lose them? 

Is that the source of my anger? 

Is it my inability to control what will someday be my condition just as it is hers?

I rail against it and deny my mother her limitations. 

I push her to remember, all the while berating myself for doing so. 

"She can't help it," I say silently.

 I look to others with the same illness. 

Each of them, locked in their own minds, their memories of rich lives lost. 

Loves they have known, adventures, travels, hardships...all unspoken stories, held within like small prisoners chained and screaming to be freed --

 Until they can scream no longer.

Thoughts.  Sorrowful fragments of nothing.

She sits silently.  Unremembering.

 Bile rises in my throat, uncontrollable bitterness.  Haven't I always been that way -- the one who wants to control?  That is my anger.

I remind myself over and over to show compassion, patience, understanding.

 I struggle to remain dispassionate, composed while a mix of emotions swirl with tornadic intensity within.

Then she asks a question that has already been asked and answered, ten times, twenty...thirty. 

"No more!" the voice yells from within.  Outwardly I answer with clipped harsh words knowing that she hears these for the first time and is confused as to why I am so impatient.

I walk away.  A single tear slides down my cheek.  It is not from guilt, frustration or anger. 

It is the sad tear for all of the ones already shed: the ones that mourned the loss of my mother who used to be.

Another tear: this one for the tears yet to come.

A torrent of tears:  each carries an emotion. I hug myself tightly trying desperately to control the flow but knowing that today there is no control.

I forgive myself, dry my eyes and remember my purpose.  I am a care giver.  I give...I care...

Imperfectly. 

I look in her eyes and know that I am forgiven for my imperfection, and  love rises from within me...deep and profound.

A roller coaster of feelings  climbing and plummeting; but minute to minute, day to day the knowledge that it is built upon a familiar, protective and sturdy framework of love .