Mother is afraid of dying. She never has been before. She has always talked of death logically and with faith and not as something to be feared. Her father also had Alzheimer's, and she used to talk about the fact that he lived so many years with the disease because he was afraid to die. She didn't understand that because her faith has always been strong. But now she is afraid.
Perhaps it is because she feels herself dying in little pieces. She describes it as a sinking feeling or like being in a boat in a deep fog. Now she is beginning to cry and cringe when she talks about death. "I'm dying, I'm dying!" she cried, and then she asked, "Am I going to die?" It was pitiful. She lay on her bed with her hands tucked under her chin and pulled the afghan up around her. There was real terror in her eyes.
I told her we would all die one day, but that I thought she had many years left. Her response, "Oh thank you." She relaxed. She smiled. I wonder how often that fear and realization grips her. Does she lie there worrying and afraid? I can't think about it too much because to think about her lying there in a state of fear is gut wrenching. I imagine her alone on her bed feeling her life ebbing away and needing someone to hold her hand and and stroke her hair and reassure her. How can I comfort her when she can't hold a word of comfort in her mind for more than a few seconds?
I try to get her mind to return to her faith. She can still say the Lord's prayer. We pray. I read the 23rd Psalm to her. We sing some hymns. She remembers words here and there and watches my lips to try to catch the words singing just a beat behind me. She is comforted. She speaks about her faith. She remembers that Jesus loves her and will not leave her alone. She remembers, but just for the moment. And the next day she asks, "Am I dying?"
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