Today, I want to share what we have lost as a family and what I lost as a daughter. The worst thing about this process is having her here, yet we know she is long gone.

How do you make peace with that? How do you live with that? People ask how your mom is. What can I say? She’s good, healthy, and comfortable, but we are not good.

Her family is left with only memories while looking into the eyes of someone who was once a force.

So I write:

Today was not a good day.

The person I saw today was not my mother. She is an empty shell of the woman she once was.

The woman who raised us. That gave us everything. Who cooked the most delicious food, pancakes, cake, and scones for us. Who took care of my kids. Taught them old Afrikaans songs she sang to us when we were children. Who threw one extra sugar into their porridge even though she knew we would disapprove. Who gave them kisses on the forehead. Looked for sweets in her bag like all grannies do.

Cut off their baby’s grows when they got too big for it.  She drew watches on our arms.

We watched her be a supportive wife to our dad. She would have dinner ready at 6 for when he got home. She washed and cleaned after us. She would put an eye pencil on before he came home because she wanted to look pretty for him.

She loved to play cards and taught all the little kids in our extended family to play. She was the lekke antie.  She loved to dance, read, fill in crosswords, and go through tons of dictionaries. She played tennis and loved to visit her friends.

We have many, many wonderful memories of my mom. All we can do now is hold onto those and pray to God that she is comfortable. That she never forgets how loved she is.

My heart broke today seeing her that way. She isn’t my mother anymore.

Her beautiful blue eyes are empty, her skin is thirsty, and her frame is so small. But to her, life is normal. The decline of her cognizant abilities has been so rapid, and we can do nothing to stop it.

She sleeps most days and refuses to get up and take care of herself like she once so dutifully and beautifully did.

This disease has stolen my mother.

And I miss her dearly.