Last nights guided meditation was a practice in futility. The setting was a deserted beach at daybreak, and try as I may I couldn't stop thinking of my mother-in-law Anjoy. I'm so saddened that she has dementia. Her life shouldn't be winding down in this manner. No ones should really. I thought of all the wonderful memories she has helped create for this family and found I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat. As I tried in vain to quiet and still myself I returned again and again to thoughts of her, how important she's been in my life, and all the opportunities she's provided our daughter that we couldn't have afforded ourselves. In the dark silence with eyes closed I tried to clear my mind, but all I could focus on was the life and times of this woman whom I love so very much. A woman who's being robbed of the very memories she played such an important role in making.
Having worked with dementia patients I'm aware how much worse it could get, the point at which she can no longer safely stay home. Suddenly all the hard feelings and misunderstandings of the recent past seem petty and unimportant. I, of all people, should have seen the signs. But I put it down to medication (she has lung cancer), or an evening glass of wine, and the normal forgetfulness that comes with age. But all along it was something far more sinister.
4:43 p.m. - 2003-12-29
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