Two days ago was the sixth anniversary of my mother’s death. These anniversaries are always hard and I’m not sure they ever get much better. My mother lived to the ripe old age of 87–almost 88–and she died less than a year after my father’s passing. Those were some very sad years. Dementia robbed both of my parents of much of their memories, relationships, and even their personalities in their final years. It’s hard to think back PAST those very bad times and try to remember them only when they were really themselves.
I don’t have too many photos of my mother and me together, but I chose this one because in this photo, she looks so genuinely happy. She had her share of hardships before I was born, but I think she was truly happy to be a mom, and I hope that most of her memories of me, at least until her final years, were happy ones.
I often wondered near the end of her life, when exactly was the last time I saw my mother. Sure, I saw her on the day she passed away, somewhat unexpectedly. But the real last time–the last time that she was truly herself? I’m not sure I’ll ever figure that out.
It’s never easy to lose a parent; my husband’s mother died at 89 in July and we still aren’t over missing her. It’s tough to reconcile how they were with how they become. (also sad and scary) I love the photo!