having a parent with Alzheimer’s is like a giant dose of grow the fuck up

When I was young I thought the true sign of being a grown-up was buying patio furniture. To me, patio furniture was was the ultimate ‘grown-up’ purchase. Patio furniture meant I would have my own home, and it would be furnished with my own things; this was the sign I would be a grown-up. Now, a giant spotlight has shined on the true meaning of being an 'adult' and it reads: “time to grow the fuck up.” 

Until just a few years ago, my life was care free and fancy free. Unlike my mother's which was ridden with tragedy from a young age - her mother died when she was 3, her sister when she was 22, and she used to tell me she witnessed her father die at her sister's funeral - I was living in my own perfect bubble. Often I spent my time gallivanting around the world with a backpack; sometimes working in remote location on a film set; and much of the time I was doing yoga and having cocktails with friends. In essence, life was good. My family was healthy, there were plenty of opportunities and I embraced them.

I was, in fact, living the Baz Luhrmann song: Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. The only difference being I was blindsided at 4pm on a Friday.

As a kid blasting open the door, straight to the fridge, then down on the couch in front of the TV, I would see my mom crying over a commerical. Why would she cry over commercial, or on the phone upon hearing bad news about someone else’s life I would wonder. What made her so compassionate, and care so much? Why did she spend so much time helping people, or be willing to drive 6 hours to attend an uncles funeral? Okay, I got it on a human level...but there was so much empathy in my Mom's heart, I really didn't get it.  

Now, I get it. 

Having a mother with Alzheimer’s is exactly what develops ‘life experience’ for a self-proclaimed, self-centered, only child. It’s almost like growing a plant out of a white plank of styrofoam. Life experience furthers when the hearts aches. Now, compassion and empathy are emotions I seem to have too much of. I will never return to the carefree and fancy free life I lived in my prior bubble. Not unless you have been through some kind of tragedy, be it Alzheimer’s, Cancer, or any kind of life struggle, can you fully comprehend the immense gut-wrenching, psyche-bashing and all-consuming nature of the experience. 

And really, if given the choice, I wouldn't want to go back. I am now the person my mother was when she raised me. Even though I didn’t understand it at the time, I admired her compassion and caring nature toward others. 

In that respect, I am lucky to have had Alzheimer’s stuffed down my throat.