My family is experiencing the mental decline of my mother who is 81 years old. I’ll just say it right up front. This a very difficult truth for me to accept. It is painful to observe and it is emotionally overwhelming. I can understand intellectually that we all go through stages and processes throughout our lives, some more desirable that others, but I am admitedly resistant to this stage of life.
My mother has been in a skilled nursing center for three years. It was the one place she swore she would never go. It was the only promise she ever asked me make. Twenty or so years ago, she asked me to please help her stay at home as long as possible if she should live a long life. And while I know I did that, it does not make it any easier to watch her mentality slip away.
To say that I experience occasional guilt is an understatement. It is a toxic, senseless and useless emotion and I know it, but still, I have my moments of wishing things were different, wishing that I could control the situation and making myself wrong because I can’t.
Having said all of that, I need to make it clear that my mother is in a fine facility and she receives excellent care. Even she understands that she would not have lived long had she remained at home. My mother appears to be mostly happy and content and has enjoyed the last three years of her life more than any time since she became wheel chair bound. These are my emotions and my perceptions about the aging process of my mother, not hers.
I think that somewhere, all wrapped up in my guilt response, lies fear, anxiety, loss, helplessness and dread. I fear my own mortality, I am anxious about my future, I mourn the loss of my mother, I feel helpless to change the situation and helpless because, I too, may very well follow in her footsteps and I experience the sense of dread that this brings with it.
I have self-righteously proclaimed that I would rather die than be in my mother’s situation. I have stood firm in my conviction, however unexpressed, that her life serves no purpose, that I can sugar coat it all I we want, but ultimately the elderly are warehoused and waiting to die. From my own egoic perspective, this is mostly true in general, regardless how humanely the elderly are cared for.
As I process all of this information and emotion, it occurs to me that my mother does more than wait to die. She lives on gracefully and graciously so that I can learn a few lessons. The first lesson she has taught me is that from cradle to grave there really is a separation of the personality we adopt and who we really are. To watch her personality ebb and flow like one long tide has offered me a rare opportunity to consider what really matters in life. I’ve been able to witness first hand what remains and what fades away as she is less and less affected by her environment and more and more by her mind. I’ve seen both the question and the answer around what really composes reality. Another lesson I have learned from my mother’s aging process is that acceptance is key, resistance to what is remains fruitless and none of us can truly know what the next moment holds for us.
In my self-righteousness, I judged my mother’s life to be unworthy of living. From the place of an open heart and mind, I can see that, perhaps, the last days, months and years of our lives are not lived for what we can receive and experience, but rather what we can give and leave behind.
From that perspective, I would be willing to be in my mother’s situation if that is what it took for my daughters and others to learn a little more about the power of their lives. I believe that each one of us is on a unique journey and part of that journey is to learn to give and receive with love. As a mother, I have said more than once that I would die for my children, but suddenly the question has become, am I willing to live for them?
That’s the lesson of Mamma Mia.

