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. 

The plus side of Easter dinner with family

Before her onset of Alzheimer's mom’s favorite thing in the whole world was to cook dinners for 16+ people, at least 6 times a year. Every Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas sprinkled with a couple birthday and summer parties. My mom loved to cook, love to entertain. She invited friends, friends of friends, and visiting friends of friends. My friends, their parents, and many times their parents parents. I invited people I worked with, people who were new to Vancouver, even people I had met that day on the Seabus (they became her life long friends). 

My mom would plan, prepare, and organize these dinners days, even weeks before the evening. Shopping, chopping, baking, cooking, freezing. These dinners weren’t fancy, they were “traditional”. Ham, turkey, corn, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, fresh sliced bread, cabbage rolls, key lime pie, mud pie, apple crumble. And they were good and fun. There was always too much food and too much wine. In essence my mother was expert party planner. She was fun, lively and generous, guests were always sent home with a few leftovers and handmade dishrags. 

These dinners usually turned into parties, the irony being my mother was not a partier. She was not a drinker, and had a bit of OCD. She was always in bed by 10, with the kitchen clean the party continued downstairs without her. There were so many dinners, for so many years - I thought they would go on forever.  

On this Easter weekend, I miss my mom’s dinner. Even though it has been 4 years since her Alzheimer's began (and you would think I’d be over it), it is the first time since her diagnosis that I have been living my own life. Until recently I had been swept up in the blur and confusion of her disease which kept me focused on her. Now, I am working on my future, and life (direction still unknown), the absence of my mother this weekend is a deep and unrelenting. 

If you are lucky enough to be invited to an Easter dinner this weekend with family - forget what your sister in law said last time about your hair. Forget your mom makes you crazy (mine always did long before she was really crazy...). Don’t be irritated your dad always pours his wine first, or that your brother’s wife puts her career before her family - enjoy it for what it is. Enjoy the meal (and hopefully the wine), enjoy the moment and enjoy the company. You are healthy, breathing clean air, and have an abundance of food in front of you. This meal was likely prepared with hours of effort and love by someone who cares, so enjoy the honor of being invited. 

They really do not last forever.  

Happy Easter.