In my mother\u2019s room at the mem\u00adory care center, I dug through the clothes piled on the floor looking for a sweater and scarf. Her clos\u00adet had plenty of hangers, but Mom, who\u2019d always been tidy, no longer re\u00admembered to use them.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s happening, dear?\u201d she asked, fuzzy on my name.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Christmas Eve<\/a>,\u201d I reminded her. \u201cWe\u2019re going to church. One of your favorite places.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe always go to such fun places,\u201d Mom said, smiling vacantly. It was unclear what, if anything, she had understood.<\/p>\n I glanced at my watch. \u201cWe need to hurry.\u201d My dad, husband and three kids were meeting us at church for the afternoon service. Even though I wanted to get Mom settled in a pew early, everything, even the simplest tasks, took longer now.<\/p>\n When I was making the 700-mile trip from my home in New Jersey to southern Indiana, where my parents lived, getting Mom to church<\/a> had felt like my top priority. This would be Mom\u2019s first Christmas at church since she\u2019d gone into memory care. The Christmas Eve candlelight service<\/a> was one of our traditions, and I\u2019d want\u00aded her to have something familiar to hold on to.<\/p>\n But now I wondered. Mom\u2019s Alzheimer\u2019s disease had advanced. She\u2019d barely left the facility in months. The church would be packed, and crowds sometimes overwhelmed her. Did Christmas have any meaning for Mom anymore?<\/p>\n As a long-distance caregiver, I\u2019d had to let go of so much over the past 10 years, so much of the relationship I\u2019d cherished between Mom and me. I\u2019d even struggled to admit that Alzheimer\u2019s<\/a> could be the cause of her slipping memory, as if denial would somehow keep the de\u00admon at bay.<\/p>\n We\u2019d talked on the phone every day back then. \u201cI\u2019m forgetting things,\u201d she\u2019d said during one call. \u201cI think some\u00adthing is wrong with me. I\u2019m going to see the doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMom, you\u2019re just doing too much,\u201d I\u2019d insisted. She was only 69, a retired teacher with a sharp mind. \u201cYou\u2019re so busy gardening<\/a> and volunteering. All your activities at church.\u201d<\/p>\n Faith. That was one of the big differences between us. Mom rarely missed Sunday services or Bible study. She prayed often. When I was growing up, it was a given on Sunday mornings that Mom and I would be in a pew at our Methodist church<\/a> in Jefferson\u00adville, sitting beside her moth\u00ader, whom we called MeMe. (My much older brother had already flown the nest when I was little, or he would\u2019ve been there too. )<\/p>\n \u201cYour faith will always be some\u00adthing you can rely on,\u201d Mom told me. \u201cYou need to know God will be there to catch you when you fall.\u201d For MeMe, church was a social event, but for Mom it was about feeling close to God<\/a>, basking in his loving spirit. Even as a girl, I could see that.<\/p>\n I loved listening to Mom sing the old hymns<\/a> in church, her voice soar\u00ading. The song coming from her lips was so joyful, as if she were one with the music. It was amazing.<\/p>\n Even so, after I left Jeffersonville to follow my dream of becoming a writer in New York City, I left church behind me too. I was focused on building my career, getting married, having kids.<\/p>\n Mom hated that her own children lived so far away; my brother had moved to Texas. I came home as of\u00adten as I could. Mom and I even took a girls\u2019 trip to England, Wales and Ire\u00adland. Mostly I stayed close through our daily calls.<\/p>\n MeMe had developed Alzheimer\u2019s, and Mom had cared for her<\/a> until the end. Mom was terrified that she too would fall victim to it. She didn\u2019t want to be a burden to my father, my brother and me. I knew I couldn\u2019t be the caregiver she had been. Not from New Jersey, where life was filled with respon\u00adsibilities, a mortgage, young children.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have dementia,\u201d I\u2019d told Mom over the phone. Was I trying to reassure her or myself?<\/p>\n Days later, while driving to nearby Louisville, Kentucky, to a doctor\u2019s appointment, Mom got totally lost. She\u2019d had to call Dad; he drove to her so she could follow him home.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s happening to me,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m scared, Kristen.\u201d<\/p>\n The doctor\u2019s diagnosis was incon\u00adclusive, but I grew more anxious with each passing month and with each troubling call with Mom. I was no lon\u00adger in denial about her condition. I\u2019d slipped into a kind of depression at the thought of losing Mom bit by bit<\/a> to a disease that steals who we are. And of not being able to be there for her when she needed me most.<\/p>\n One Sunday morning, I decided to go to church alone. I picked a mega-church I\u2019d often walked by. I remem\u00adbered how loud and joyful the music had sounded, even from the street. The parishioners seemed happy and animated as they streamed outside after services. I wanted to feel what they were feeling.<\/p>\n I took a seat in a crowded pew. \u201cWe all suffer physical and mental health crises,\u201d the pastor said. \u201cBelieve in God, and he will produce miracles<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n What kind of miracle could I hope for? <\/em>I wondered. There\u2019s no cure for Alzheimer\u2019s, after all.<\/p>\n Still, when the service was over, the people around me greeted me with such genuine warmth and caring. I went back the next Sunday and the one after that.<\/p>\n I kept going. I learned the words to the praise songs. I started reading my Bible<\/a> and praying, devoting time each day to nourishing my long-neglected spiritual side.<\/p>\n Mom declined slowly yet inexo\u00adrably. Dad hid her car keys<\/a>. Not be\u00ading able to go out by herself devas\u00adtated her. I pushed to get Mom into a memory care facility. I called facilities across southern Indiana. But Dad and my brother felt it was too soon.<\/p>\n I poured out all my frustrations, my fears, my grief to God. My pastor spoke often about how faith could take the place of worry. Letting go, living in the moment and trusting the future to God<\/a>. The more I grew spiritually, the more I wanted to learn. I started prac\u00adticing yoga, then eventually trained to become a yoga teacher, exploring even more deeply how to stay present.<\/p>\n My daily conversations with Mom were becoming more one-sided. I would tell her in detail about my fam\u00adily, the kids\u2019 sports, my writing assign\u00adments, the TV shows we were into, what we ate for dinner, the songs I sang at church<\/a>. It wasn\u2019t always clear how much she registered, but Mom and I were connecting. That\u2019s what I told myself, anyway.<\/p>\n One day, while I was at the yoga studio where I taught, Dad\u2019s number popped up on my cell phone. Some\u00adthing\u2019s happened to Mom! <\/em>I thought. But it was Dad who needed help. He\u2019d gone to the VA hospital with chest pain. The doctor had ordered emer\u00adgency quadruple bypass surgery<\/a> for the next day.<\/p>\n Dad was scared for himself and even more worried about Mom. Could I come home? I raced to my house. My husband booked me a ticket for the next flight out.<\/p>\n I stayed in Indiana for two weeks. My brother also came to help. Mom was confused and upset by everything that was happening. I called eight agencies and found a home health care aide<\/a> who could put in a full day with Mom and Dad after I\u2019d gone back to New Jersey. She was a sweet wom\u00adan older than my parents, who were in their late seventies by then.<\/p>\n Mean\u00adwhile, I put Mom on a waiting list at a memory care center<\/a>. I didn\u2019t want to upset Dad by talking to him about it, but there was no doubt in my mind that Mom needed 24\/7 care.<\/p>\n A room became available in January 2018, just as Dad arrived at the same conclusion on his own, surely an ex\u00adample of God at work. I went back to Indiana to help with the move. We packed Mom\u2019s clothes, family photos and favorite coloring books<\/a>. It was hard for everyone, but Mom was safe, which was the best I could hope for.<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t call her every day; a conver\u00adsation didn\u2019t hold her attention for long. Instead, I took to calling Dad every evening. In a way, it felt like honoring Mom. She\u2019d been devoted to him for their 60-year marriage.<\/p>\n Through it all, I held fast to my faith, to the support and friendship I\u2019d found at church<\/a>. One Sunday, I stood to the strains of a praise song I\u2019d come to love, \u201cThe Great I Am.\u201d I raised my arms high, my body moving to the music, letting the words wash over me. \u201cI want to be near, near to your heart. Loving the world, hating the dark.\u201d<\/p>\n The voices around me lifted, joyous. It reminded me so much of childhood Sundays<\/a> in Indiana, sitting beside Mom in church, listening to her sing out her love for the Lord. In draw\u00ading me back into his house, closer to him, God had given me a way to draw closer to my mother, a connection that went beyond words.<\/p>\n The faith that had sustained her had finally taken hold in me, and I couldn\u2019t help but think this was what she would have wanted. Though we were separated by the miles between us, by her loss of memory, here in church, basking in the light of God\u2019s love, I felt so close to my mom. This was my miracle.<\/p>\n That Christmas Eve in Indiana, af\u00adter Mom had gone into memory care, I got her dressed and drove us to church just before the candlelight service<\/a>. Our family filed in. \u201cTake our seats,\u201d a young couple with a baby said. They were in the back row. Mom could sit near the end of the pew between Dad and me. Perfect.<\/p>\n We got settled, and the music\u2014all the familiar carols<\/a>\u2014began: \u201cThe First Noel,\u201d \u201cJoy to the World,\u201d \u201cAngels We Have Heard on High.\u201d Mom hummed and even sang some of the lyrics. She held Dad\u2019s hand and mine. Then she closed her eyes and bowed her head.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is she doing?\u201d Dad whispered to me.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s praying,\u201d I said. Dad had tears in his eyes.<\/p>\n Did Christmas still have meaning for Mom? I didn\u2019t have to wonder anymore.<\/p>\n At the end of the service, as the sanctuary went dark and the congre\u00adgation began singing \u201cSilent Night<\/a>,\u201d I lit her candle. Mom\u2019s eyes never left the flame as she mouthed the words. After the final verse, she puckered her lips and blew out her candle.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d she said. \u201cThat was beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/p>\n