When Memories Fade: A Recent Encounter with Mom’s Dementia

I often speak about my mom’s condition with Dementia. Dementia is a complex and often heart-wrenching condition that affects not only the diagnosed individual, but also their families and loved ones. As I reflect on my experiences with my mother, who is battling this disease, I find myself grappling with the nuances of memory, identity, and familial connection.

In the recent visit, what was supposed to be innocent question from my mom sparked a mix of emotions in me: she asked how “the kids” were doing. I responded happily thinking we are talking about my kids (Ngidumile and Masedi). How wrong! Mom was referring to her own kids. In that moment, I felt the weight of her words and the invisible barrier that dementia placed between us. I gently reminded her that “the kids” she referred to were my siblings, not my children, and instinctively, my heart sank. It was a reminder of the cruel reality that memory loss can distort relationships, leaving the past muddled and the present fragmented.

My mom is blessed with four beautiful girls and I am the Benjamin of the family. When I recount this moment, I recall how my mother, with a proud smile, called out her three children using her fingers, as though counting beads on an abacus. Her enthusiasm was palpable; she seemed completely convinced of her reality, and there was an undeniable sweetness in her innocence. She went “ke Nthabeleng , Rethabile, Libokanyo” Yet, with each name she mentioned, I felt the sting of absence. She didn’t mention me. Suddenly, I was not one of her kids—I was an afterthought, “Mme wa corneng ya mosa) as she said, a phantom of a memory that had slipped through the cracks of her mind.

This interaction led to a deeper inquiry, one that I couldn’t resist contemplating. “So, you only have three kids?” I pressed, looking for clarity. Her response, an exuberant “Yes!” cut through me like a blade. In her mind, the narrative of her life had been rewritten; in her heart, the bond we once shared seemed to have vanished.

I then asked her, “ so you have only three kids, then who am I?” She jumped to the question as though answering in an interview! She was certain and didn’t even have to think hard about it “ah wena, O Mme ya mosa wa corne’ng Mona ya nratang feela” loosely translated, “ you are just an ordinary kind woman that happens to love me.”

For many, this would be a devastating realization. And, admittedly, it gave me pause. In this new version of her story, I am not present in the way I always thought I would be. The “Khabie” or “Makhambizola”. The woman who once birthed me, now views me as an outsider (atleast ke Mme ya Mosa ya Moratang- so love still prevails). It felt as if I had slipped through a time warp—witnessing my own existence through a glassy lens, distant and out of focus.

Yet, I grapple with understanding the essence of our relationship through dementia. Deep down, the real her exists in the folds of my memories—the mom who cradled me as a baby, the woman who was an excellent cook and a dress maker , and my father’s love and “Dear” as he fondly called her. I am her last born, and in my heart, I will always hold that sacred space.

As I navigate these turbulent waters, I find hope in the resilience of love, even when shrouded in ambiguity. Dementia may challenge the fabric of memory, but it cannot erase the feelings that remain anchored within us. I vow to cherish the moments where the light of recognition flickers, even if they are fleeting.

Through laughter and tears, despite all the frustrations, I promise to tell stories of our shared past, hoping to rekindle the bonds that dementia wishes to sever. I find solace in knowing that while my mother may not recognize me in her moments of clarity, the love we’ve built over the years remains etched in the very essence of who we are.

Navigating the realities of dementia is undeniably challenging, yet within each interaction lies an opportunity for connection, understanding, and growth. I remind myself that love transcends memory, and through that love, my place as her last born remains eternal, regardless of the tales our minds choose to weave.

In sharing my journey, I hope to foster some understanding of dementia and the complex emotions it evokes. Whether you are a caregiver, a family member, or a friend, remember that even in the face of memory loss, love can prevail, guiding us through the storms and shining a light on the bonds that endure.

This saddens me a lot…however I’ve learned to accept this our situation , live in the moment, cherish our time together and find joy even in every moment we share despite the difficulties we face.

Memento vivere - Remember to live.

It’s a Wondrous Wednesday

Likha~Biso❤️