Relationships/Dementia

From Estranged Daughter To Best Buddy: 7 Important Things My Mom’s Dementia Has Taught Me

Number 2 was the most surprising.

My mother has dementia. Apparently, it’s been coming on for quite a while.

I didn’t know this because I’d been estranged from my immediate family for over ten years.

Without going into too much detail, my family dynamic is toxic to me.

I’m the scapegoat of a dysfunctional family that looks fine on the surface.

It always seemed fine because I was always the “problem.”

When I was in my early 20s, I left my childhood home and embarked on a very long and problematic healing journey, culminating in a happy, healthy marriage and a stable well-loved child.

I moved back to my hometown just before my daughter was born because I wanted her to grow up with a sense of extended family.

My husband is an immigrant, his family is in another country, and both of his parents died when our daughter was just a newborn. So it’s only my family close by.

I was under the impression that my family would welcome the new, improved, healthy, happy me back into the fold because they were always so worried about me when I was an out-of-control musician living the rock star life of my youth.

There was much hand-wringing on my behalf and so much “concern” that I assumed that everyone would be happy once I got my act together.

Turns out I was wrong.

Unbeknownst to me, the hand wringing and concern were a smoke screen so that outside eyes wouldn’t see the true nature of the family dysfunction.

Everyone else in my family also had glaring problems and issues, not the least of which was my parent’s terrible marriage.

My father is a narcissist, probably NPD, but he presents as a charming, fantastic guy. He was a beloved teacher who still chums with many former students, but here’s the deal with people like that: they’re different behind closed doors.

I always knew my dad was mean to my mother. His mother, who had a weird, warped attachment to him, was also mean to her. My grandmother was mean to us kids as well.

She gave us substandard Christmas presents (read used dolls with crayon all over them and already cut hair) while my male cousin (who weirdly looks a lot like my dad) got the best presents her money could buy.

He got giant plastic monstrosities, brand new in box, with batteries beautifully wrapped. We, girls, got underwear shoved into a coffee can with a bow on the top.

My father never protected any of us from his mother.

In retrospect, he seemed to revel in the cruelty my grandmother unleashed on my mother.

So obviously, my family was completely dysfunctional, and my siblings didn’t escape the effects either.

My father was the king of divide and conquer. He pitted us against each other and fostered resentment.

But on the outside, life went on, and to those looking in, things seemed pretty normal.

The golden firstborn child became the star athlete and scholar who showed the world how great our family was.

I was the loser and the problem. The one who absorbed everyone’s poison to keep up the facade.

Everyone resented the drama I rained down. It was easy to hate me.

My younger sisters fell into the categories of the forgotten child and an incredibly entitled, spoiled baby.

When I was entangled in the dynamic, I didn’t realize how intentional it was.

I learned that when I moved back as a better functioning, mostly mentally healthy adult with a healthy marriage.

I thought everyone would be happy for me, but nobody was.

That’s when the hijinx started.

Passive aggressive behavior, sabotage, backstabbing, rumors, and lies became my daily diet. Everywhere I turned, I found something new and ugly happening.

It was shocking, hurtful, and confusing, but eventually, I realized they were stuck in a pattern they couldn’t and didn’t want to escape.

I also realized it wasn’t their fault. They were only operating how they always had. But I knew I owed it to my marriage and my daughter to remove us from the dysfunction.

So after many chances and high roads taken, I chose to disengage.

Every forgiveness I’d given was repaid with a new and more hurtful act. I knew it wouldn’t end, so I had to finish my part in it all — I had to remove myself from the toxic equation.

There was no point in trying anymore, so I stopped.

The fallout was interesting.

There was an implosion of sorts behind the scenes. Without the handy scapegoat, people began to spin.

Since I was friendly with my sibling’s ex-husband for many years post-divorce, I was privy to some pretty nasty shenanigans.

She milked that break-up for ages even though she had instigated the divorce.

But like all good narcissists, she’s the queen of the victims.

She would lie to our family about him so everyone would think he was terrible while she was busy harassing and making life miserable for him and whoever was unfortunate enough to like him.

She went nuts when he found his long-term girlfriend (now wife).

True to the family pattern, my sister presented herself as a victim and manipulated everyone around her into feeling sorry for her.

But the information I got from the new wife tells a very different story. It’s the tale of a crazy person who manipulated the children, lied on many fronts, and harassed for sport.

For me, that story made the most sense because that’s the story of my life with that sibling.

So at a certain point, when I realized that nothing would ever change because there was too much at stake for the rest of them, I opted out.

I’d see my parents now and again.

I’d take the odd birthday or Christmas present over, and when we first disengaged, I tried to stay connected for my daughter’s sake, but as she got older and felt more and more disconnected herself, I stopped bothering.

The visits got less frequent, and that was fine by me.

Fast forward about 12 years.

My uncle died.

I went to the celebration of life that my cousins had for him. (I was lucky that my cousin contacted me directly because when my aunt died, my whole family knew, but nobody told me, so I missed the funeral).

It was there that one of my siblings told me that my mother had dementia.

My uncle had rented an apartment in my parent’s basement, and since he was much younger, he helped out around the property and kept my mother company. (My father barely talks to her.)

So I decided to start dropping food around.

I’d go by every Sunday with ready meals.

The food drops turned into visits.

That’s when I noticed my mother’s diminished mental state.

Being stuck in the house with my dad had taken a toll.

Two of my sisters (ironically, the two my mother fawned over and did the most for throughout her life) had moved away. They’re both just far enough that it isn’t convenient for them to pop by regularly.

My other sister drops groceries by every week and sometimes has my parents over for dinner.

As far as I could figure out, that was how things were when I got back into the picture.

So I decided I would get my mother out of the house once a week to give my dad a break and to give her a day of fun.

My dad also plays cribbage once a week, and there was concern about my mom being alone in the house for that night, so now I also take her out one night a week.

I started doing this not because I wanted accolades or acknowledgment.

A lifetime of trying over and over with these people told me that wasn’t possible.

I even contacted a couple of my siblings when I started doing this to check in and see if there was anything I needed to know, and instead of saying thanks for looking out for mom, one of them tried to talk me out of it.

She said, “She’s not an invalid. (Cue my cringe) She can be home alone,” and then proceeded to text another sister, who within minutes was texting me, saying it wasn’t necessary either.

This sibling has lived her whole life trying to make sure I don’t ever do anything to show her up. She made sure I felt fat, ugly, stupid, unliked, and like a loser when we were kids. When I tried to accomplish something, she undermined me.

Nothing changed as we got older.

With my mother’s well-being, it seemed, she was also up to her old tricks.

So I chose to cut her out of the process because my mother was in real distress, needed some social activity that involved getting her out of the house, and she needed it regularly and scheduled.

She didn’t want to be dropped off at a seniors center. I suggested this, as did my youngest sister. But my mother was scared and didn’t want to do that.

She wanted to be with people she knew.

I work with toddlers, and one way I help them feel secure is to have schedules and routines.

So now I take my mom out twice a week.

It’s not a second chance.

The mother who resented and ignored me isn’t there anymore.

This is a different person.

I’ve always told my husband that if my mom and I could completely erase the baggage of the past, we’d probably be best friends because we’re so alike.

Oddly, or not oddly, that’s what’s happened.

Our twice-weekly adventures have been a bittersweet journey.

I’ve got to know my mom in a way that I would never have if this hadn’t happened.

Sometimes I get triggered and sad, but mostly it’s been fascinating and fun.

I’m learning about her, and I’m learning about myself, but most importantly, I’m still, at the ripe old age of 55, learning about life.

These are a few of the main takeaways so far:

1. Life is full of surprises. Never say never. Life may have f*’d you over, people may have disappointed you, and you might say you’ll never do something. Or you may be basking in the good life; everything is going great. But hold onto your hat because life has a way of surprising you in good ways and bad. Nothing is set in stone, so be careful what you wish for. Don’t get too complacent because whether it’s what your heart wants, the lessons you’re here to learn, or just the humbling nature of the human experience, if you do, you can bet that the forces of the universe will come along, and shake things up.
2. Take advantage of every clean slate life gives you. You don’t have to engage with everyone who’s hurt you. I certainly don’t. But once in a while, you get a genuinely clean slate with someone or something. Learn to recognize this ripe fruit and take big bites of it, even if it’s bittersweet. It will nourish your soul.
3. Forgiveness is a process. If you can’t forgive, at least be kind. Being kind is a healing path and will always take you where you need to go.
4. Everyone has a story. Every hurtful action has a painful beginning. You can’t just expose yourself to dangerous, hateful people because you understand how they got that way. But when you can connect with someone and hear their story in a way that heals, listen carefully, and take notes.
5. Kindness is necessary. Kindness is the actionable form of love. No matter how small the kindness you offer may be, it matters. Even if it’s not appreciated, it matters. Sometimes kindness is all you have to give. When you don’t have love inside you, you can still be kind, and that’s okay.
6. Life’s treasures are sometimes found in its trash. If you’d asked me a year ago if I’d ever have a relationship with my mother, I’d have given that a hard no. I knew why our relationship was doomed when she told me she felt bad when I was born because nobody was paying attention to my older sibling anymore. Why she’d always overcompensated in favor of that sibling over me suddenly made sense. My relationship with my mother was always a bit of a dumpster fire, with my narcissistic father and sisters pouring on the kerosene. But from those ashes, this new relationship has risen. My mother doesn’t remember the continual disappointment I caused her and how we never got along. She doesn’t remember the rumors and lies my sisters told her. Now she sees me just as me. And guess what? She likes me! Just me. Just for me! From the fires of her dementia, this new friendship is forged. And it’s fun and fabulous, and it’s just ours.
7. Living in the moment is fantastic. I do well with my mother now because she is like a toddler, and toddlers are my specialty. Toddlers live in the moment, and so does my mom. Every bite of food is the best food she’s ever had. Everything is new and fun. Everything is fascinating. She remembers her childhood and loves to tell me the same stories over and over, and I love seeing the joy that telling those stories gives her every time. I love the place of honesty she operates from now that her facade has fallen away. Living in the moment means she has nothing to lose, so she’s honest and authentic. I’m learning about who she is in a way that would not otherwise be possible. Everything is new to her, even the conversations we have over and over in a day, so I pretend they’re new to me too. And guess what? Every time we have the same conversation the same way about the same thing, some new little nugget of truth comes through.

My mom is lucky.

Her dementia isn’t debilitating.

Many other people with dementia don’t have it as easy as she does. One of her friends has Lewy Body dementia. A type of dementia that causes hallucinations. Her friend is a shell of herself. My mother is still mostly herself, and for that, I’m grateful.

She still has a good life. She gets frustrated and fixates on her regrets sometimes but is in excellent physical health, is chatty, has her sense of humor, and is still charismatic and fun.

She’s got the type of disposition that never stays down for very long.

I feel like I’m seeing her as a child before the weight of being married too young with four children in a row and a narcissistic mean husband ground her down.

I feel lucky to be able to hang out with her now.

Our days out never feel like a chore.

I’ve always told my husband that if my mother just came to me and honestly and genuinely said sorry for how she treated me, all the resentment and pain would fall away, and all would be forgiven.

I know now that will never happen.

Because that person was eaten up by dementia.

But the truth is, I mourned my parents when I had to let them go for my own sanity.

So whatever this new thing is, it’s new.

It’s totally new.

My mother, as I knew her, is gone. What I’ve got now is a soul buddy.

One that I feel I’ve known for eons.

A soul that was lost to me and now is found, one that’s doing my own soul a world of good.

If you have a senior loved one or neighbor that you look in on often and/or care for, you may want to check out this book I created to help me keep track of my parent's well-being.

It's a prompted journal/health diary that I make quick notes in every time I visit so I can keep track of how my parents are doing. I made this with people like me in mind who don’t need a full-blown medical journal but want to be able to keep simple detailed records of the things they notice when they visit.

It’s been very helpful for me. It might be a helpful tool for you as well.

I hope you enjoyed that story. I will be writing more about my adventures with my mom in the weeks and months to come. Please follow and subscribe to my newsletter to be alerted.

Here’s the next story in this series:

Monitor your habits for greater happiness by downloading your FREE Mini Wellness Workout Self-Care Bundle. This package includes a series of printable habit trackers, including a Mood Tracker, Beverage Tracker, Sleep Tracker, and Dream Journal.

❤Because the path to well-being is deeper self-knowledge.❤

Erin King is the author of the book “How To Be Wise AF: 30-Day Guided Journal For Women” and other health, wellness, and well-being resources.

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