Loss

A diagnosis didn't help, it just sort-of explained things. But an explanation doesn't take away the heartache. I thought I'd clean up her cookbook today. It was an item I had asked dad for a year or so ago. Mom was no longer cooking and there were so many things she used to make that I wanted to make for my family. Her cookbook must have been something she looked through frequently even as her brain was no longer working the way it should. The recipes were no longer in order based on appitizers and meats, but haphazardly strewn throughout the book. There were multiple handwritten recipes, but with items omitted or duplicated (I only realized this when trying to bake one of her pies and the ingrediants were not correct. I wanted this book to be in order, and toss the recipe cards out that were incorrect.

As I opened the book and saw dinners and desserts that she frequently made, the realization of what my children and I have lost, hit me like a freight train. I miss her. I miss the way she was. I miss the mother that was always in the kitchen cooking up something amazing. I miss seeing "Mom" appear on my phone as she called to tell me something she had heard at work. I missed her hand written notes that she would leave in my lunch box, with small gifts, or just on the island in my home growing up. Those hand written notes in her distinctive handwritting, the same handwriting staring up at me on the recipe cards in this book. I miss her more than I have ever missed anything in my life.

She was here visiting yesterday. I conditioned her hair and trimmed it up. She played with the cats and watched the children play. I got to love on her and physically put my arms around her. But it's not the same. She can't interact with us the way she used to. She can't tell me stories about her day or ask me about mine. Her visits leave me feeling conflicted. Happy that she is able to tell me she loves me and is affectionate to the kids and I. Sad that our relationship is so different. Sad that the Nana I wanted for my children is incapable of being that version I dreamed of.

I'm grateful the kids enjoyed their visit with her and never noticed her constant pacing and repetitive statements. I'm grateful that I got to hear the words "I love you so much Kara," come from her lips yesterday. I am grateful for what I have left of her, but sometimes the loss overpowers the gratefulness. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to tackle her cookbook the day after a visit with her. For now I will leave the cookbook as is and put it back up on my shelf. I will pray for a day the loss doesn't feel so hard and I can focus on being grateful for the mother I had for so many years. In the meantime, I will remember that when I need to find her potato soup receipe to look in the desserts section.