Heartbreaking. Devastating. Challenging. Exhausting. Grim. Painful. Stressful. Hopeless.
Much like the disease itself, the list of adjectives describing Alzheimer’s is unflattering and endless, and that would be my narrative, if not for grace.
Grace met me at my lowest moments with mom, when I thought I couldn’t take another second of living with her, when I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning, and when I couldn’t wait to escape to my room at night. Grace then met me again when I felt guilty and ashamed for having those feelings.
Grace met me in those early days after mom’s diagnosis, enabling me to see through her confusion, anxiety, and anger, to the scared individual who resided within, to the sweet soul who didn’t understand why her life changed so drastically, and to the feisty character who just wanted her independence back.
Grace met me again when we moved mom into Memory Care, falling to my knees on the other side of a locked door, devastated because I promised I would never leave her behind such a door.
Grace met me at the end of mom’s disease when she could no longer walk, or talk or swallow, when the end of her struggle was near, but the clouds of depression still consumed me, because even in her heart wrenching state, I didn’t want to let her go.
Grace met me at every intersection, and at the end of every rope.
Grace allowed me to see Alzheimer’s in a way I never thought possible, and far different than how I viewed it when my grandmother was diagnosed.
And grace has continued to change me, grow me, soften me, and open my heart to the differences in the world around me.
I was introduced to Grace, by a disease called Alzheimer’s, and Grace has saved me.
“There, but for the grace of God, go I”.