Upon discovering two blue lines on a pregnancy test, the first person I wanted to share the news with was my mum. Her excitement would have been palpable, as she cherished her role as a mother and was eager for me to experience the same joy of motherhood. Unfortunately, by that time, she was grappling with young-onset dementia, diagnosed at just 58 years old.
Every visit, I would recount my pregnancy news. Sometimes she grasped it, but often she didn’t. My first trimester was especially challenging, leaving me feeling unwell, and during such times, my mum was the only one who could provide the comfort I craved. Her absence was a palpable loss; I missed her daily check-ins about my symptoms, her advice on remedies from her own pregnancy, and the joyful anticipation she would have brought as she shopped for baby clothes.
When my waters broke unexpectedly a month early, fear consumed me. I longed to call Mum for reassurance, to have her with me in the hospital, bringing tiny onesies and comforting words. When my son arrived five days later, I called to announce his birth. Her response was distant; she asked about her dog instead, reflecting her struggle to remain present due to her condition.
As I navigated motherhood, I often found myself reflecting on my own childhood and how Mum made difficult moments enjoyable. I wondered how she might have embraced her role as a grandmother – would she have confidently imparted advice or felt unsure about modern practices? It saddened me to think that I was gradually forgetting her, even as she was physically there.
To preserve her memory, I began jotting down little anecdotes about her—like her quirky eating habits or her humour that often made every meal feel light-hearted. While these cherished memories bring warmth, they also create heartache, as my child will never truly know the wonderful woman who is his grandmother.
Whenever we visit, Mum’s face lights up, even in her confusion about his gender; she calls him “she” and communicates with him in her own joyful babble. Despite her detachment, she still expresses love and excitement.
I strive to fill the gap left by my mother’s condition by reaching out to friends and family for guidance and support. Yet, nothing can replace her unique presence in my life and my son’s. My greatest hope is to keep her spirit alive through stories and memories, ensuring that one day, my son will learn about his delightful nana, despite the challenges posed by her illness.