It’s October. It’s cold, by the sea the seagulls sung for us and it felt like the sky was holding me.
This visit to my Mum’s is shrouded with something new. Gone is the anger I’ve felt towards her, the pain, the deep simmering rage.
Instead my edges have softened.
Mum is on her own journey now with dementia
She knows that she knows me but for the majority of the time she has called me her sisters name. There is a weird feeling of confusion and disbelief when I say “I’m your daughter Kara”
Being a Mum myself I can’t imagine a day when I turn to the child I birthed, watched as they slept, breathed as they breathed and not remember. There would have been a time when my Mum couldn’t have imagined that either.
It seems cruel. Unfair. A woman full of fire, at times very sharp losing herself.
And as Mum loses her sharpness simultaneously my edges have softened. To deeply lean in to compassion and empathy and appreciation and into the now feels boundless. Like this is the beginning of something else, something new.
I want to tell her how grateful I am for her. To her. For everything she did and didn’t do. I want to write it on every piece of paper she has in her home, on her mirrors, on her walls in big writing
“You are a great mum. I love you. I appreciate you”
As she hugged me and I told her that, I breathed as she breathed, the child she birthed and in that moment we knew everything.