How can I write about moving my Mother into assisted living. It would be like bleeding all over this blog. My heart is crushed.
People keep telling me "it's not your Mom, it's the disease." I know that, I understand that. But she is still my Mom. If she wasn't my Mom, I wouldn't be involved in this nightmare. The things she says and does cut me like a knife.
She has gone from a friendly, outgoing, loving person, to this mean, self absorbed, angry, illogical, dirty, irrational, repetitive, nasty person.
This dementia has stomped all over me and left me ragged.
Dementia is a Dementor. (For you who have not read the Harry Potter books, a Dementor is a creature that feeds on happiness, it absorbs all the happiness from it's environment, it leaves you feeling as if you'd never be happy again, and then it sucks out your soul.)
I have sent out about 60 letters and emails to friends and family letting them know of Mom's new address. Telling them that she had to move because it was not safe for her to live alone. Now I'm hearing from these folks; friends and relations who live far away, who talk to Mom often on the phone. What I'm hearing from them is "Really? She seemed to be doing fine."
We believed what she told us, why wouldn't we. Mom can talk a good story. Think back, when was the last time she called you? She hasn't been the one to call, in a long time. Yes, the dementia has made fools of us all.