Hope departed when she died. I often talk about it being the second time she left me…without saying good-bye.
Throughout her illness, I held out the hope that she might remember. She rarely did. Like a butterfly struggling to break free from its cocoon, her memories darted in and out of the sunlight, fought against the darkness of every night, and me.
Still, there was always that chance she might turn her head and recognize that I was part of her life. Or had been, once.
It was overwhelming, at times a helpless feeling, as I stood in the shadows of that familiar stranger wanting to become the missing piece of her puzzle of forgetfulness. A puzzle left scattered, never to be completed.
Hope, for me, departed on June 29th, 2006, on the wings of a butterfly who never looked back, taking with it many desires and needs and dreams. While hope can carry on its back an entire soul, lifting up sorrow and bringing back joy, it also takes many forms, depending on your perspective; wildly positive or very reserved, almost cautious. Most of us hope for better days, health, happiness or just some release of a heavy burden. For me, it was the hope that my late mother would remember something beyond the walls of what Alzheimer’s allowed. I kept hoping she would remember…me.
When she passed away, that hope went along with her.
