I have always been comfortable in my own company. married twice, divorced twice, eight years total and no offspring. So, I have grown very accustomed to single life. Going home to an empty house or apartment, no welcoming ‘how was your day’ or ‘guess what’s for supper’. It is alright, I have always focused on my work, friends or hobbies. I have adapted quite thoroughly.

So, when I look back over the past couple of years, I have lived a far less self-centric existence. My mother has final stage dementia, a deterioration of the brain due to plaque buildup that slowly kills her neural-net receptors. That’s the scientific explanation of what those of us who have experienced it, well we would describe it as our personal nightmare.

I remember when we started to notice mother having some memory issues. It wasn’t a huge surprise, it does run through the family lines, on both sides and the trees. You have a very good idea of what the slow progression, which will inevitably follow that sad diagnosis. But no matter the mental preparation you feel you have done, when the end arrives, it’s still a shock to your system.

As I type this on my iPad Pro, my mother is laying in the hospital bed that Hospice Angel Care has brought to her apartment at the assisted living center.

Over the past two days she seems to be experiencing a perpetual slumber. When you wake her up, she seems so far away, her words are distant and mumbled. Her mouth no longer expresses her real thoughts. The words are garbled as a mess of scrabble letter tiles shuffled on a game board table. Listening to her trying to communicate with me, reminds me just how ill-prepared I am to be filling these shoes of family caregiver. An aging man who has never change a baby’s diaper before. Now is expected to know what and how to take care of his dying mother. Helpless doesn’t quit expressing my state right now.

Looking back at my mother’s life and mine with her, I have so many fond memories of us together. Mother was always my life coach, before that was even a thing. She mentored me from the earliest moments. She had to, I was a handful as a child. I had no self-esteem, no confidence or drive to be greater than myself. But she never gave up, never stopped encouraging me to try harder. She was always right in that respect; it just took me twenty-five years to understand that she was right. The past three decades have altered my life, no shortage of praise for my number one fan, my mother.

Sitting here now I am thinking of past experiences with mother. That time when my cousin and I were riding dirtbikes on our makeshift motor-cross woopty-doo’s; jump – jump – jump, so much fun. Those are ramped berms, one after the other. Well, we talked mother into trying to ride a bike. She started the bike straight, then she started to veer towards the woopty-doo’s and instead of letting off the throttle, in her panic and confusion, she twisted it full throttle. She hit those berms like a pro, until she went airborne! bump after bump until she laid the bike over on its side; the throttle still revving at max rpms. we were both terrified and fighting back tears of laughter at the sight of my mother flopping on the seat of that dirt bike! She was bruised embarrassed and really pissed off! Then we really couldn’t hold back the belly laughs at her expense. But what that story says about my mother is priceless; she was always a quiet warrior.

She also never let us leave the dinner table with food on our plate; “only take what you can eat and eat what’s on your plate”. She really meant it too!

I remember her arguing with my middle brother, he was almost five years older than I and he was getting “bossy” in his retorts back at her and her demands that he was NOT going to do what he had told her he was old enough to do. He was fifteen and was getting very cocky! Then right there in the living room; slap! His face and hers registered shock and horror. My mother had never hit us; a smack on the ass, sure, But a full, all out slap in the face. Oh heck, it was priceless!

“You hit me!” he pulled his hand from his nose, the blood flowing down his hand and over his mouth. He threw his head back in a reflective action “You gave me a bloody nose”

Then mother gained her composure, “be glad that’s all I do… now get to the bathroom and clean yourself up”. You are not going anywhere tonight!

Mother was everything any bunch of rambunctious boys could ever ask for.

Now she lays there sleeping, her mouth gaping open in a horror inducing maw. Her breath is shallow and weak; she is clinging to life. It is hard to see the courageous woman I have always known. Thank God I have those wonderful memories to cling to for the rest of my life.

Thank you, mother. The strength behind my successes.

I love you.