Chapter 6 - The House Full of Memories
Moving Mom temporarily into an assisted-support apartment felt like dismantling her identity one cardboard box at a time.
She argued about everything.
Her dishes.
Her books.
Her sewing machine.
Dad's chair.
But then we found a locked wooden box beneath her bed.
Inside were medical papers dating back more than a year.
Mom had been documenting her symptoms.
She knew she sometimes confused colors.
She knew she occasionally forgot where she was.
She knew she had become disoriented while driving.
She had hidden all of it.
At the bottom was a letter addressed to me.
She had never sent it.
Sarah, if you're reading this, then I probably waited too long.
I stopped.
Daniel read the rest beside me.
Mom wrote that she feared becoming dependent.
She feared being pitied.
Most of all, she feared losing access to Noah.
The irony was devastating.
By hiding her condition to remain close to him, she had become dangerous to him.
But the letter also changed how I understood her anger.
She wasn't simply stubborn.
She was terrified.
That didn't excuse what happened.
Understanding wasn't the same thing as excusing.
I could love her and still enforce boundaries.
That became the lesson our family desperately needed.
Then the neurologist called.
The latest test results were back.
May you like
And he wanted the entire family at the appointment.
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