A mother’s love: a former caregiver remembers in Daydreaming on the Porch

It’s been almost 2 1/2 years now since Mom passed away after a long struggle with dementia. Not a day goes by they I don’t think about her, especially on Mother’s Day.

Although she could remember almost nothing except long-ago memories of her childhood, and didn’t know what day it was, dementia didn’t conquer her spirit or faith in God. And she mostly still recognized her three children, to the very end, I am convinced of that, although there were many times when she asked me, “Who are you?” But those episodes seemed to pass. She still had the most beautiful, pure smile that always melted our hearts, and those of the few visitors she had.

She loved breakfast, and when I’d go into her room to get her up to start her day, this could be a lengthy procedure, for all the reasons you can imagine. But on days when she was having a good morning, she’s rub her eyes and smile at me and hold her hand up for me to grasp and she’d say, “I love you.”

Until we had to give her all puréed food that came in many varieties, I discovered, her breakfast was usually instant oatmeal, orange juice and a cup of coffee. Oh, how she loved her coffee! For decades, she and my dad had perked coffee from those now unfortunately obsolete, but still available, old-fashioned percolators. Over years of fixing this for her every morning, I spoiled myself because I loved it, too. It made even medium roast coffee taste like the darkest and most flavorful roast you’ve ever had.

We finished breakfast with a poached egg with toast and butter and jam. Often she was awake during breakfast, but other times the caregiver/home aide, who had come in at 10 am, had to gently wake her and coax her to eat.

On Mother’s Day, I’d go in and start the routine, but a little differently. As she slowly started emerging into her day, I’d ask her, “Guess what we’re having for breakfast?”

Her eyes would light up. “What?”

And I’d reply, only half jokingly, “Pancakes, sausage, fruit, eggs, juice and coffee.”

“0h, boy!” She’d invariably reply.

Then while she was waiting, I’d fix bacon, which she dearly loved, a cheese omelet, and toast with her favorite apricot jam.

She never became bedridden because by sheer force of will every day she let me get her into the transport chair and into her big sunny den that looked out on her garden, and from there to her favorite sofa where she spent so much of her time. When my brother designed the house for her 25 years ago, we made sure to have the master bedroom on the first floor so she’d never have to worry about going up and down stairs when she no longer could.

I saved most of the Mother’s Day cards I gave her. I’d always go to Hallmark about a week before and persistently scan and read one card after another, until, almost at wit’s end and about to give up, I found just the right one.

This is probably my favorite. It was from 2010, which in caregiver time frames seems like eons ago. There was a beautiful rose on the front of the card. There was almost nothing Mom loved more than flowers.


Inside the card read:


It’s often said
that the greatest gift
a mother can give her child
is the gift of love.

And I will be forever grateful.


The flowers this year:

https://flic.kr/p/2njjSJA

The card:

https://flic.kr/p/2njexfr

Last updated May 08, 2022