The hardest part wasn’t packing up Mom’s things or signing paperwork—it was when she smiled and said, “You don’t have to visit every day, sweetheart. I’ll be just fine.”
Mom’s memory started slipping, and after she wandered out of the house one night, we decided it wasn’t safe for her to stay at home anymore. We moved her into a nursing home. The place wasn’t bad, but leaving her felt like abandonment, and guilt consumed me.
That night, the nursing home called. Mom had tried to leave, thinking she was going to work. It broke my heart.
Salome and I visited more often, at first out of guilt, then it became routine. Some days Mom was sharp, other days she’d cry about Dad. One day, I saw Renata, a woman who had “adopted” Mom, laughing with her and supporting her. She became part of my support system, too.
Then, Mom had a good week—she remembered Salome’s birthday and teased my son. I realized that it wasn’t all loss.
Salome said, “Maybe it’s not giving up. Maybe it’s loving her in a new way.” She was right. We hadn’t abandoned Mom. We had adjusted, found help, and kept showing up.
If you’re going through something like this, doing what’s best doesn’t always feel good, but it’s not wrong. You can carry love and grief together, and you don’t have to do it alone.
Share this if it touched you. Let’s talk if you’ve been through something similar.
