Karina Moreno shares about her experience taking care of a parent with dementia.
I have never considered myself to be first in or of anything. My last name starts with an ‘M’ so I am used to being in the middle of the pack. But in one area of life, I am strangely ahead of the curve. Seemingly every conversation with friends and colleagues these days makes it way to caring for aging parents. Many of my Gen X peers in their forties and fifties are just now entering the disorienting period of ‘parenting the parent,’ but my sister and I traversed that rocky terrain earlier than most.
My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s when she was 66 and died at 73. I would say too young but I recognize that seven decades is more than a lifetime for some. I have learned that any age is too young to have your daughters whisper their names into your ear so that you never forget who they are. The years we cared for my mom were isolating. Now, I find solace supporting others by sharing our experience with everything from ending up in the emergency room to hiring overnight caregivers.
Caring for someone with dementia can be profoundly sad, cruel even. And yet, there are also moments of levity and tenderness.
In the early days of our caregiving journey, I remember someone saying to me and my sister, “it’s actually a gift.” We balked at the time, slightly offended. Too gutted by our sense of loss, I couldn’t see caregiving for the sacred act that it is. One day, we were walking out of my mom’s house after we had refilled the meds, stocked the fridge, and updated post-it notes around the house.