Caring for my mother became the center of my world. Slowly, almost without noticing, my life narrowed. My work hours were reduced. Eventually, the job itself slipped away. Financial worries followed.
Money went toward medications, special meals, home adjustments, and quiet solutions to problems that felt anything but quiet at the time.
She would hum old songs, melodies from a time long before I was born. Sunlight would spill across the floor, and for a moment, everything felt still and right.
Other days were harder. She grew restless and anxious, unsettled by things she could not explain. There were moments of confusion that no amount of patience could completely soothe. I learned to speak calmly even when my heart felt heavy. I learned that presence mattered more than perfect words.
My siblings called occasionally. Visits were brief and infrequent. They had lives filled with obligations, families, and responsibilities of their own. I tried not to judge. Still, there were moments when the weight of doing it alone felt overwhelming.
What carried me through was a quiet truth I came to understand over time. Love does not require recognition. Even when my mother forgot my name, she relaxed when I held her hand. Even when words failed her, she sensed safety. And that had to be enough.
There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes with caregiving. It is not just the absence of help, but the gradual disappearance of the person you are caring for as they once were. Continue reading…
