Archive Notes: This is an English translation and rewritten version of a blog post originally published in Japanese on September 30, 2019. [Japanese version]
Praying for Peace in the Quietest Moments
It feels completely contrary to what anyone would normally wish for, but right now, praying that my mother doesn’t regain consciousness feels like the gentlest thing.
Given the current situation, regaining awareness would be far too cruel for her. Just as her attending physician first assessed, I find myself quietly hoping she can remain peacefully asleep… and that she can spend the rest of her remaining candle of life through her own natural breathing, as gently and briefly as possible.
My mother, whose sense of time stopped 21 days ago, used to express constant dissatisfaction whenever she spoke. To be honest, it was almost baffling how hard it was to find anything that would ease her mind. Looking back, since I was practically the only person she could talk to, maybe she was just venting all her built-up frustration to me.
“My back hurts,” “My legs hurt,” “It’s hard to walk,” “It’s hard to eat,” “My skin is so itchy and miserable,” “Going to the hospital is exhausting,” “I hate this,” “Everything is such a hassle…”
The other day, I noticed her 5-year diary sitting on the bed. When I casually flipped through the recent pages, I came across a line written on one of the days:
“I want to die soon.”
Understanding the Unseen Struggles of Aging and Dementia
Even though she could still handle basic daily tasks on her own, her disorientation and memory symptoms were getting worse with every passing day. On top of that, my father—who lives with her—was constantly criticizing her, harshly blaming her for “losing her mind.” Expecting an 86-year-old woman in that condition to stay positive felt genuinely heartbreaking and unreasonable.
I tried stepping in to mediate, telling him, “There’s no point in blaming her so harshly!” But that only defused his vocal attacks momentarily. Without anywhere else to direct his frustration, he would repeat the same pattern over and over again.
I mean, I understood his frustration, but what else could we do? Expecting someone living with dementia not to act or speak like they have dementia is simply impossible.
Yet, once September rolled around, her blood pressure seemed to stabilize nicely. Her physical condition improved, the days when she faced my father’s harsh words decreased, and she didn’t need to call me in an emergency as often. Just when I was feeling relieved by this quiet patch…
Comparing it to late August—when I received five phone calls on my mobile before dawn in a single night—things had improved so much that I was truly grateful.
Still, letting her go shopping alone was becoming worrying in many ways. I was starting to feel that she needed significant daily support and caregiving.
I was just thinking to myself, “I really need to sit down with her this September and help her write an ending note while asking about her wishes,” right when this happened.
Fortunately, I was already handling almost all her affairs, so there weren’t many unknown details to worry about. She didn’t own credit cards or do any online transactions, which kept things simple. But it did remind me… I definitely need to finish my own ending note properly soon, too! (Even though mine is far from finished, haha.)
Navigating Changing Family Dynamics and Finding Balance
My father and I had rarely ever talked to each other in the past. Now, finding myself in a situation where I have to speak with him every single day feels like a huge, strange shift.
Yet, once again, I’m the only person available for him to communicate with.
The other day, when my sister-in-law visited, she suggested to my dad, “Why don’t you visit one of those senior community centers to chat with people?”
My father replied, “How could I go to a place full of old people?!”
My sister-in-law and I burst out laughing. You’re literally the oldest senior there, Dad!
Anyway, he extremely dislikes interacting with people, so thinking about what lies ahead leaves me a bit apprehensive. The only saving graces are that, compared to my mother, his mind is still quite sharp, and he has a healthy appetite.
He can’t handle any administrative paperwork at all, though. But if anything comes up, my husband is a practicing Labor and Social Security Attorney, so he can guide us through any official procedures. And as for collecting documents and filling out forms—well, that happens to be my specialty!
Ultimately, the most important thing for me right now is not to push myself to exhaustion and to take care of things in moderation.
Tomorrow, I’m taking my aunt (my mother’s younger sister) to the hospital again to send our quiet prayers to her bedside.
