The Heartbreak

My mother’s ability to function independently had been deteriorating rapidly. No longer able to keep her apartment in senior housing, I brought her home to live with me.

The tension between my mother and me had been excruciating for endless years. We had lived enmeshed in a symbiotic relationship until, at age thirty five, I finally found the strength to separate from her.

Nenette had been unable to comprehend my decision. She simply could not understand that I had the right to have my own life away from her.

Nenette felt abandoned, betrayed by me.

She believed that I didn’t love her anymore, and that false belief had placed a tremendous strain on our relationship.

And then, the miracle happened …

As I began to take care of her at home due to her advancing dementia, her belief that I had stopped loving her melted into nothingness and our mother-daughter relationship began to heal.

A horrible disease was taking my Nenetita away from me. That same disease had also brought her back.

~

For many months I experienced what I had thought would be the impossible: the absence of conflict in the relationship with my mother.

Fear, defensiveness, manipulations disappeared. Closeness, trust, tenderness took their place.

I was now able to express my love for my mother, freely, without having to suffer rejection after rejection.

I could hug her and hold her and kiss her,

I could tell her how pretty and funny she was.

We laughed a lot together

and I cried a lot alone...

~

For many months I satiated my thirst for loving connection with my mother, drinking the magical elixir of each lighthearted moment with Nenetita.

I didn’t want to know what lay ahead.

I didn’t want to think about it.

I lived one day at a time,

one moment at a time.

~

As Nenetita’s health continued to deteriorate, both mentally and physically, my responsibilities as her only caregiver continued to increase.

The weight on my shoulders was getting heavier and heavier, yet I continued carrying it day after day after day.

The situation was consuming me. I was exhausted beyond words yet I continued pushing and pushing for I was going to take care of my mom till the end.

Concerned friends and my psychotherapist had been hinting at the possibility of taking Nenetita to a nursing home but I wouldn’t hear of it.

I would never take my mom to a nursing home. I simply would never do that.

I had heard horrors about nursing homes.

Taking Nenetita to one of those places was not an option.

~

And one day at home she became lethargic, only I didn’t know what "lethargic" meant.

She had been sleeping all day.

“Let her sleep,” I thought to myself. “She needs to rest.”

Then she got up and came stumbling to the kitchen. She leaned on the stove and began sliding down. I tried to catch her and we both ended up on the ground under the kitchen table.

She was trying to speak but couldn’t. A slur of meaningless sounds was coming out of her mouth.

I called the doctor’s office.

“She collapsed? She can’t speak? CALL THE AMBULANCE,” the doctor said.

That day I learned that perhaps, after all, I was not qualified to give my mother the best possible care.

That day I realized that I didn’t know how to monitor her symptoms. I didn’t even know that in such extreme circumstances I was supposed to call an ambulance.

Later I learned. And boy, how I learned...

~

My mother had a urinary tract infection

- also called a UTI -

the first of many to come.

People die of UTIs. Lethargy is one of the symptoms.

And lethargy became a red flag.

~

One night I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

A police officer was standing on my doorway and asked me to come downstairs to Nenetita’s bedroom. Another officer was already there with her, sitting by her bed, reassuring her.

She had called them, she had opened the front door for them, she had told them that someone had been killed.

Psychosis was taking hold of Nenetita’s mind.

“We can call someone to help, ma’am,” one of the police officers said.

“That’s alright,” I replied, “I’ll take care of it.”

I believed I could take care of it all.

Well, I couldn’t.

~

Soon I couldn’t leave the house for I couldn’t leave her alone

and I couldn’t bring her with me everywhere although I tried.

Oh, how I tried.

I couldn’t find people to help me,

I couldn’t afford to hire help.

Not 24/7 help anyway.

The system helped and friends helped, but nothing was enough. She needed round-the-clock care and that was not available.

Life had become unmanageable,

I was reaching the end of my rope.

~

And one day at one of our visits to the ER she was admitted and after a few days at the hospital she was released...

too soon …

~

Collapsed on my sofa I feel the inward battle.

"I will take care of her till the end,

I can’t

I can’t

I will

I can’t

back and forth

and back and forth

~

It was a dangerous battle.

My determination to keep her at home and the awareness that I simply could not do it anymore were equally powerful conflicting internal forces.

I could not let her go and I had no strength left to keep her with me.

And then, for a fraction of a second, I gave up the fight and the scale tipped over to the side of reason.

In that fragment of a second I picked up the phone and called the hospital.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I heard myself yelling and screaming at the doctor:

“She was released too soon! I can’t take care of her!

I can’t keep an eye on her every moment of the day!

I find her crawling on the floor! Crawling up the stairs!

She could fall! She could get hurt!

SHE COULD GET HURT!”

I was hysterical and it worked.

The doctor re-admitted Nenetita to the hospital to begin the process of transferring her to a nursing home.

~

Sometimes hysteria does the trick although I wouldn’t recommend it.

Hysteria happens when one feels helpless.

Hysteria also happens when the one you love the most is being torn away from you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Hysteria is sometimes part of the process of losing a loved one to that horrific disease:

Alzheimer’s.

~

I had learned that in order to take Nenetita to a nursing home she had to be transferred from a hospital. Transferring her from home would involve a much longer and more convoluted process.

My decision to call the hospital for help had been very faint. It had only lasted a fraction of a second and I acted fast on it.

There had been a tiny window of opportunity and I had seized the moment.

What would have happened if I hadn’t made that phone call?

What would have happened if reason hadn’t won over?

What would have happened if I had collapsed of pure exhaustion leaving Nenetita without an advocate?

What would have happened to her?

What would have happened to me?

~

The day I led Nenetita out of our home

knowing that she wasn’t coming back

was the worst day of my life.

I couldn’t stop crying

I couldn’t stop crying

~

That day, when Nenetita left home,

she walked to the car with her walker as an innocent lamb would to slaughter.

Friends were with me.

I couldn’t stop crying

I couldn’t stop crying

I was losing her again and my heart was breaking...

I was losing her again

I was losing her again

~

Epilogue.

Letting go of my mom

– my sweet Nenetita –,

accepting our separation,

accepting her decline and all its crisis

and ultimately accepting her passing,

brought one heartbreak after the other after the other.

I thought I would not survive the agony

but I did.

Seemingly against all odds

I survived it all.

The tears haven’t stopped and perhaps they never will.

Still, in the midst of it all, life does go on and comfort and healing for the broken heart do come, in time.

No matter how excruciating the journey may be,

beauty and joy

and warmth and laughter

can get to be experienced again and again and again.

And so, one small step in front of the other,

I continue on my path,

crying and laughing

and sobbing and dancing.

Jorgelina Zeoli , March 2015

~~~

www.jorgelinazeoli.com