I understand your sense of loss of your mother, although l respect the pain is yours and yours alone. That is a salient fact for each one of us who have lived with a loved one, a mother in my case as well, who was afflicted with dementia. Because of the obvious bond which exists between you and the care you have given, even it seems preserved her life at one stage, that alone makes the relationship very powerful and as an adult daughter, as l was an adult son, that relationship becomes enhanced in a very particular way due to the nature of dementia. You become what your own mother was when raising you - caring for a vulnerable child, a daughter whom she loved - in a reverse role. You work in the same Care Home where your mother was resident. I did the same. When she died l was not at all sure that l could continue working there, passing her room every day knowing she was no longer there. Yet l did and found it totally positive and not at all unsettling. The fundamental thing is this. All the care and love which you have provided during the whole period in which your mother has lived with her dementia, remains intact. All the moments of laughter and play which took place when your mother was free of this unremitting disease remains intact. Nothing can harm that, ever. When the dementia entered both your lives then all the challenges which arise you confronted as best you could, knowing your mother now required that kind of very personal care which demands every waking hour and every vestige of energy at one's disposal, because that is the nature of dementia. It claims the one you know and love and renders them complete vulnerable. Its not like being affectionate and caring at a distance, which is the norm for many people who fortunately have not experienced dementia first hand. No, its very different. Each and every day becomes a challenge, a broad mix of expectation, anxiety, apprehension and often cold fear. All of this - and each one of us can relate a different story - compounds one's daily living and creates a kind of cocoon in which you reside mentally and in a way physically too because you are not free. So is it any wonder that you find yourself in a state of despair and perhaps also a sense of utter helplessness which appears to have no ending... Grief is a complex state and l am never quite sure about its legitimacy. With dementia the "anticipatory Grief " occurs almost by default. That also compounds the whole notion of ' normal ' grief evolving out of actual loss.
So if you feel a need to shed tears, do so. Don't inhibit any of that. Its a natural release and out of it can come a degree of clarity. Acceptance of fact. That someone, a mother, is no longer here. And being fact, being truth, that in itself can alleviate longing and any sense of denial. We all die, that is a truth and as honest as birth itself. Its the actual living that demands our very serious commitment to understanding above everything else, ourselves.
Therefore let the " living " part of your dear mother act as the comfort factor, because that is reality. Yes, the dementia was very very hard to address within the one you know and love. I found that too. But when l kissed my late mother during her final moments - she was unconscious and had lived with Alzheimer’s and Vascular dementia for a short time, presenting in her mid 90's - l knew that l had at least done everything in my power to care for her, through thick and thin and traumatic moments which were immensely challenging at times. You have kindly shared your story here and that is very valuable because it gives solace to those who are entering the sphere of dementia care by narrating your reality, your experience and your integrity in openly expressing your own emotional grief. That honesty is wholly positive and greatly appreciated.
Thank you.