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I can't stand my mom either but now I am her caregiver.
I first realized I did not care for my mom after my father passed. I attributed my father not being around, to somehow not knowing my mother. My father was always life itself so once he passed, I just thought I never really knew my mother and this is who she was.
This miserable, self absorbed person.
I never thought she had dementia too.
But unlike my father who knew something was wrong with his thinking, my mom is not going quietly into that dark night. She will rage, rage against the dying of the light. LOl!I
So I am left with what? What am I fighting for? What matters?
My mom was never an easy person, impossible to please and hypercritical, but she was always empathetic. "The little troll" is what I call her terrible alter ego. The little troll doesn't care about anyone but itself. Nothing is right. Nothing will ever be right. Or good. Or enjoyable. The little troll hates everyone and everything and thrives off a good fight.
She also has this other ego of the completely dazed and confused one. The one who never remembers things ever. The one who is just generally lost and babbling about God knows what.
Somewhere in between lives my mom. My mom who worries about the caregiver getting home in the thunderstorm. My mom who wonders how I'm paying for all of the bills and wants to give me money. My mom who cracks a joke and sits and watches an old movie with me.
The trouble is, I never know which one of them I will see when I come home or will greet me when I get up. And even then, it's no guarantee whomever is there will stay. The little troll can come on suddenly and last all day or night … and then disappear in an instant.
God, I hate this disease.