Once, when I was a preteen, my best friend and I wandered to the local ice skating rink to visit the gift shop. We were gone for so long that my mother panicked and shouted our names over the track's loudspeaker. When she finally found us, I think she was as angry as she was relieved, and I've never forgotten the look on her face.
Now, more than 20 years later, I see my mother caring for her own mother in stores, restaurants, and at home with the same love and fear. My grandmother has dementia that has reached a point where she no longer knows who most of her family or friends are. She needs to look up most of the words and she can't always find them. She doesn't know that her younger sister died last year. She disappears into certain rooms in my parents' house for so long that I asked my dad the other day if we should check on her. He told him not to worry, she does this several times a day. Sure enough, she reappeared and sat back down in her recliner and then about 15 minutes later she walked back into another room.
For the past few years I have been watching my parents raise my grandmother. I always knew they were good parents; I had a wonderful childhood, something I really appreciated only in retrospect. But watching them now as they raise my grandmother (and I don't know what other word to use to describe the way they feed her, dress her, make sure she's taking her medications, and schedule all of her appointments) hits me in a way. Different way. This year I turn 36 and I have no children. I'm pretty sure I don't want any, but it hasn't escaped my notice that I'm getting to the point where I need to decide for sure.
I'm also starting to realize that even if I don't have kids of my own, I'll probably end up being a dad someday. Dementia is usually hereditary. My grandmother's father died from it and we have no idea if my mother will inherit it. But if it's not that, chances are there's something else triggering the role change she's currently experiencing in us. I also can't help but wonder: if I don't have children, who will be there to be my father in the end? However, I'm not sure I can commit to the idea of having a child just to have someone to take care of me when my own mother is no longer here.
My mom and I are different in many ways. She is very outgoing and friendly by nature, which I am not; She remembers every birthday and every important date, while I forget something immediately if I don't write it down. She grew up a tomboy and has played sports her entire life; I have been awarded more than one participation medal for my weak athletic efforts. At times we have struggled to find common ground. But now that I'm an adult, we have a relationship that, for the first time, allows us to see each other on the same level. Parenting is at the center of our lives right now, as I decide whether I want to be one or not, and she returns to a role I'm not sure I ever imagined returning to after my sister and I grew up. . In any case, she was supposed to get a promotion from mother to grandmother.
“Mother” is certainly not your only identity, but I know it must feel like it sometimes. And I know that, as much as she loves her mom, she will be ready for the next phase of her life once my grandmother passes away. She is ready to fully inhabit the other identities I saw once I was old enough to realize that she had the right to exist outside of me: traveler, hiker, friend, reader, wife, gardener, sister, aunt.
Caring for an elderly parent comes with a lot of complicated feelings and my mom has started talking about things that show me she is thinking about how she will spend the rest of her life. There are countries she wants to explore, but also everyday activities that are easy to take for granted when you're not responsible for someone else, like wanting to join me on some of my regular morning walks on the beach.
For now, I watch my mother hold my grandmother's hand as she walks her down the street. She tucks my grandmother's scarf into her jacket to make sure she is warm enough, and I can see that my grandmother feels safe, content, and protected, even if everything else is confusing for her. I can only hope that when our roles are reversed, she will be as good a father to my mother.
Jackie DesForges is a writer and artist in Los Angeles. @jackie__writes
