So my father called me this morning about mom’s MRI results. Not good. While the contusions appear minor (at less than 1 cm2), there is definitely white matter that, coupled with her failed results on the cognitive tests, suggests something is def abnormal. The doctor suggested doing another MRI with contrast dye in another month to see if anything changes… At this point, there are further tests that can confirm whether this is Alzheimer’s or “regular” dementia (80% of dementia cases turn out to be Alzheimer’s), but Alzheimer’s seems to be the likely scenario (my maternal grandmother has it right now). There’s no cure for Alzheimer’s, just meds to slow its progression. And of course, those meds have side effects. My dad didn’t say specifically what those are… Dad’s doctor friend suggested that giving mom more things to do and handle would be good for her brain. I’m trying to think about what puzzles or such she would even have the capacity to do. I dunno.

Both dad and I were kinda matter-of-fact about everything on the phone. I suppose a part of me isn’t that surprised, but now I’m feeling regretful that so many times in the past, I reacted so angrily to her confusion. I really am the worst.

As soon as I got off the phone, J asked if she was afraid. I don’t even know. I didn’t ask. When I talked to her, it was our usual distant, random conversation. Forty years later, I still don’t know how to have a real relationship with my parents. And that makes me sad. I spend all this time and effort trying to build my emotional/social intelligence so I can connect better with friends and strangers and yet I am completely unable to exert the same effort for my parents. Why? I have interacted with them using frustration and anger and contempt for so fucking long, I don’t even know how to find the other emotions!

This evening, I was on the phone with dad doing tech support. He seemed more energetic than usual about learning how to do stuff… maybe he freshly motivated knowing he’ll need to step up his game to take care of my mom, or maybe he’s trying harder so as to not doubly frustrate me. Despite his new verve, I sensed a vulnerability in him that I hadn’t noticed before. I wonder about this process of spending your entire adult life loving one person, building and raising a family together, and then knowing that slowly, that person will become less and less recognizable. What must that decline and growing distance feel like? The loss of the mind. The loss of your best friend and life companion. It’s a very scary thing.

Earlier today, I did some weird mental exercise where I ranked possible illnesses and diseases for my mother. Would it be better if she had cancer? A stroke? kidney disease? I worry about my capacity for kindness and compassion towards my mother, especially since our communication has always been tenuous. If I can’t communicate with her, or she can’t grasp what’s happening, or she doesn’t know who we are… what do we do? And how incredibly lonely and harrowing a journey that will be for her. I don’t know how to be warm and loving. How will I dig deep and become the daughter I need to be?