Dear Mom: Being an Alzheimer’s Daughter Gave Me a Voice

How does loss and grief become a blessing? I’ve said before that writing is how I heal. And never is the weight of grief more lifted than when I’m writing letters to my mom. As it turns out, being an Alzheimer’s daughter gave me a voice.

Dear Mom,

I don’t know if you can read my letters or if you already know what’s on my heart but it’s always cathartic just to get these emotions off my chest.  I find myself missing you horribly in this beautiful Texas spring, as I do every year in the weeks leading up to my April birthday.

Being an Alzheimer’s daughter gave me a voice

It’s as if all of the bluebonnets lining the highways are whispering your wildflower loving name.

The reality of never

Just when I think the constant, dull ache of your absence is finally gone, it shows up again at the most inconvenient times, and I find myself grappling with the reality of never.

Never getting to hear your voice or see your face or hold your hand. Never seeing you walk on the beach with your grandchildren. And never experiencing your encouragement, your advice or your friendship again in this lifetime.

That sneaky grief ambushed me on a solo trip to the mall the other day.  I was trying on fancy dresses for a summer wedding, with no feedback except that of the sales girls for reassurance.

I ate lunch alone in one of our old favorite spots, the cafe’ inside Nordstrom, seated next to a mother and her adult daughter, with only my smartphone for company.

As a young mom, time alone is usually a blessing for me, but sometimes, when I’m missing you, flying solo is hard.  I’m very fortunate that, at 1 and 3-years-old, my girls are already becoming sweet shopping and lunch companions.

My heart and mind

My older daughter’s personality reminds me so much of my myself, and, consequently, of you, that it often breaks my heart.

I see the best of me and the worst of me in her. I’m starting to understand the meaning of the term, “threenager,” and what it must have been like to be my mother in those emotional preschool years.

My Big Girl is silly but sensitive, enthusiastic but cautious.

Coaxing her into new environments can be taxing. Responding lovingly to her wild imagination and paralyzing anxiety about unexpected things like walking on shiny, linoleum floors and having “too many princesses,” not monsters, mind you, in her room at night is often a challenge.

I read recently that an anxious personality is a sign of higher verbal intelligence.  Imagine that.

Like you and me, your oldest granddaughter is extremely verbal and has a deep need to express her thoughts. Constantly.

I remember you telling me that, once I started saying full sentences, I never shut up again!

Now, I understand exactly what you meant. She never stops talking. Never–well, unless she’s sleeping, of course.

She wants to communicate everything on her heart and mind at every moment, to me.  And I understand that feeling, as I sit here, writing this letter, wishing I could still tell you everything that is on my heart and mind.

You taught me how to love

Early on, you impressed upon me the importance of following the Greatest Commandments: “Love God, and love one another.”

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. – 1 John 13:34 ESV

You taught me how to love others, especially my children, well.

You taught me to be patient and kind. And you valued my opinions and encouraged me to express myself honestly. You made me feel special always because you knew and appreciated my strengths.

“Write about God”

My oldest daughter is always curious and uncannily perceptive.

Yet, explaining a “blog on the Internet” to a 3-year-old is difficult. “But where is it?” she asks.  “Well, it’s on the computer.  It’s on everybody’s computers,” I tell her, at a loss for a more accurate response.

She knows that I love to write and often emulates me by filling blank pieces of paper with wavy lines and then “reading” them to me. She even “wrote-ed” one especially for my blog.

The other day, I asked her what she thought I should write about on my blog, thinking she might say one of her favorite characters du jour, like Mickey Mouse or Curious George.

She said, “You should write about God.”

She gets it.

At 3-years-old, she already gets it.

Because, really, isn’t that the whole point of my story–finding Jesus in the midst of my struggles?

Trusting God when my stress was so overwhelming and my loss was so devastating that I could hardly breathe?

Because without Him, I simply would not have survived.  I would be a complete and utter mess, lost and alone and afraid.

Faith like a mustard seed

But I had faith like a mustard seed, Mom, because of your authentic, permeating faith.  I had, within me, a glimmer of faith that grew and grew and eventually flourished into a real relationship with Christ, a relationship that moves mountains.

Jesus said, in Matthew 17:20:

… If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

Your illness gave me those mountains. I experienced deep, real, agonizing struggles as I lost you to Alzheimer’s disease in the early years of my marriage and motherhood.

Losing someone you love this much, with every part of your being, means losing part of yourself and having to find yourself all over again.

I know now that God gave me those struggles, and continues to give me struggles, for a reason. He is developing perseverance and endurance and courage in me. As the apostle Paul wrote in Romans 5:3-4, a passage you underlined in your study bible and therefore ingrained in my heart upon your passing:

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

He is drawing me near, into His plan for His glory. He is equipping me for ministry.

You gave me my story

On some level, as I’ve searched for purpose, I’ve always known that writing was my gift, the truest expression of my heart.

As a writer and Christian mommy blogger, it’s hard not to compare myself to the Jen Hatmakers and Ree Drummonds of the world, with book sales and TV shows and millions of subscribers. Yet, I find reassurance in wise words from Jon Acuff:

Don’t compare your beginning to someone else’s middle.

I’ll probably never see that kind of success. And I’m okay with that. If God uses my words to share His love and uplift just one weary soul, then I have succeeded.

You gave me a voice

You gave me my ministry. And you helped me write my story.

But, most of all, you gave me a voice.