The First Feared Moment

Story by Brianne Grebil

My mother was diagnosed with dementia five years ago at the age of 62. And from that instant I began trying to prepare for the moment when she wouldn’t know who I was. There was a pit in my stomach every time I thought of it. But when that moment finally came, it was profoundly beautiful, and with it, I saw something beyond my mother’s dementia.

It happened over the holidays. Mom was wandering the house one night, and came into the room my fiancé and I were sleeping in. I woke up, as she was turning back out. I followed her to the living room and saw fear, nervousness and sadness all over her face.

“What’s wrong mama?” I asked.
“This is my home,” she said, “but I don’t know who you people are.” She was on the verge of tears.

It was The Moment I feared – but… but… in that moment, not an ounce of my consciousness was thinking about me. I was focused entirely on the scared woman in front of me.

“Oh I see. That must be scary. Well I can tell you we are all people who love you. We’re all here because we love you. You might not remember, but we love you a whole lot.”

“You do?” she asked, as I watched the fear slip a little.
“Yes indeed. We love you tons, that’s why we’re here.”

A sense of ease slipped in to the cracks, so I thought I would take a chance.

“Do you remember you have a daughter?” “Yes.” “Do you remember her name is Brianne?” “Yes” “That’s me!” I said with the warmest smile I could ever find.

And then the fear disappeared and my mama reached out to me for the most amazing hug we have ever shared. She pulled away, looked at me with the sweetest eyes, then hugged me more. I don’t think my mother and I have ever been wrapped in a moment filled with so much love.

And that is when it hit me… the place where love resides cannot be touched by any disease. The place where connection flows is beyond any intellectual comprehension, and so a “rational” mind is not necessary to experience it. Those moments of grace like the one I had with my mom are always on offer, just beyond our ideas of what’s wrong.

I still have moments of sadness and grief when I think of the mom I might have had if dementia had not come along, but the heaviness it once carried is gone.

When we look at the disease, we find despair. But the human we love is still present. When we look at what is lost, we find heartbreak. But something more powerful always remains. When we look at what is or is not said, we find confusion and frustration. But beyond all language, life itself will carry us when we cannot carry ourselves.

This is not “looking at the bright side”, I believe this is seeing something more true than dementia.

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And then the day came when my mother didn't know my name