I Never Wanted to be the Grief Girl but I Lost My Mom to Alzheimer’s

I never wanted to be the grief girl but I lost my mom to Alzheimer’s. I’ve been a writer since I was 9 years old. In fourth grace language arts class, I soaked up sentence diagramming and essay structure like it was manna from heaven.

Words and language became my currency, and crafting fictional short stories and nonfiction family newsletters became my favorite escape.

I never wanted to be the grief girl but I lost my mom to Alzheimer’s.

As a former high school English teacher, my mother encouraged my passion and fostered my talent throughout my childhood. She taught me to be selective and discerning, engaging but authoritative, and concise instead of flowery in my writing. She taught me to say what I meant in an honest and transparent way. And she taught me to proofread and edit for content accuracy and language clarity.

She taught me to communicate.

She taught me to write, and, in essence, she taught me to communicate.

Then, as I moved away from home, graduated from college, and got married, I watched my mother’s once beautiful verbal skills gradually deteriorate back to the level of childhood and then infancy, in the throes of early onset Alzheimer’s disease. She lost her ability to communicate by the time she became a grandmother, but in her true, selfless parenting form, she gave me something to talk about in her absence.

There’s nothing quite as isolating as grief.

While there’s nothing quite as isolating and unglamorous as grief, writing about the experience helped to bridge the gap from my soul to the disconnected outside world. Writing helped me begin to feel whole again.

It helped me to feel understood when I lost the one person who had known and understood me best.

I lost my mother to Alzheimer’s disease.

I never wanted to be the grief girl. And I didn’t envision myself writing about dementia and caregiving and feelings as a career. As a child, I thought I would do something fun like write fiction. Maybe I still will.

Yet, everything I communicate to the world will always be touched by the grief of losing my mom–the one who gave me a life and a passion and a voice, the one who taught me to write.

I never wanted to be the grief girl, but here I am. I will eagerly and diligently serve as a voice for the broken-hearted, even if it’s not what I imagined.

He asks us to do the right thing.

When I lean into the place and plan God has for me, instead of fighting who and where I am, magic happens. Flood relief fundraisers happen. Children’s books happen. School and church speaking invitations happen.

Will I be a New York Times bestselling author? Will I be a viral mommy blogger sensation? Probably not.

Will I be right where I’m supposed to be, loving others well and meeting them where they’re at in their struggles with a healthy dose of hope? With God’s help, I believe I will.

He doesn’t ask us to do the glamorous thing, he asks us to do the right thing, and, as it turns out, that’s our highest and most fulfilling privilege.