A heartfelt reflection by Clare on the slow progress of Dementia in her mother, Rita Reid.

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A Slow Unraveling

Clare Reid    March 24, 2025

 

The words come

With such struggle now.

Stuck behind the veil

of this cruel disease

But in her eyes

I still see love

Unwavering

She slips away

Not a sudden loss,

but a slow unraveling

Echoes

of the woman she once was

I am the nurturer now

Protector of the woman

who once held me close

and caught my tears

In a twisted way,

I find fulfilment

I am in charge now

I am the adult

I need to be strong.

Push away my tears –

It is harder for her,

Trapped inside a mind and body

that no longer serve her

It hits me in waves

Not a sudden grief,

but a tide that ebbs and flows

One day I realise:

I’ll never be able

to ask her advice

like I once could

Never hear her voice

unburdened by aphasia

Never have her hold my child like I imagined

And it hits me,

deep in my chest

An ache so raw

The tears spring to my eyes,

Always just below the surface

She is still there,

but so much harder to find

Her art remains

A thread of purpose

She collects eucalyptus leaves,

marvels at their tones and textures

She notices the details

others overlook,

translates this beauty with brushes and paint

Her struggles

make my heart ache

I want to fix it.

I yearn to fix it

To hear her words fall freely

To end the frustration

To take away her confusion

And give her certainty in a world that

Makes no sense

She loved me so deeply

She loves me so deeply

I carry tender memories:

of countless bedtime stories,

a love of books and words

Dolls and dresses,

made from her own hands

Teaching me to sew, to crochet, to create

Feeding my imagination,

nurturing creativity

making magic

out of what we had

Picnics, libraries,

botanic gardens

rivers

bush walks

fairy glens

She gave me

a magical childhood

The one she never had

She endured so much

as a child

That little girl

who only wanted to spin and twirl,

but who was burdened

By the fears and paranoia of a mother broken by the Catholic Church

And yes

I wish she had pushed me more, encouraged me

to push through fear

But she only wanted

the best for me

did what she thought was right.

She spoke of my guardian angel

always looking after me

But she

Was my guardian angel

Fading, slipping away, but still there

She is gentle,

innocent,

finding beauty in the smallest things

And yet, there are shadows

She was there for me,

but she couldn’t be

the parent

my sibling needed.

Regrets,

pain,

what ifs –

the complicated feelings

Her frustration taken out on those who care for her most

But through it all

There is love

I carry the thread

I carry the love and the childhood magic

I weave it into something new