I love you, Honey

Every time I hug my mom she says, "I love you, Honey. I wouldn't trade you for anything."

Sometimes I wonder what is going through her mind when I walk out the door to return to my home. Her diagnosis was five years ago. But she remembers things that I didn't expect her to remember at this stage of the game. I attribute that to the medication she takes, Namenda. It may not work for everyone, but it has slowed down the progression of the AD.

Guilt manages to overtake me at moments like this when I know I was busy taking care of things at my house, writing that article I had to get finished for my employer, the article for my senior living web site, and the general daily tasks that a wife and mother has to do. I still feel like I should be popping in daily to make sure everything is OK.

"You can't be here all the time," Dad says. "You have your own life to live."

My youngest brother says, "You can't put your life on hold to take care of Mom and Dad." But if I don't, who will take care of things? Who will make sure that the medications are dispensed properly? Who will see that they are OK, getting their bills paid on time, that they eat nutritionally sound meals?

I've determined that I should just take one day at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time. That I should just do what I can each day and forgive myself for my shortcomings. If I'm doing the best that I can, the best I know how, what more is there?

I love you, Mom. I wouldn't trade you, either. You've always been there when I needed you. How can I do anything less for you?