I’m not losing you once, I’m losing pieces of you every day as this disease relentlessly takes you from me, from all who love you.
I’ve never liked goodbyes, but Alzheimer’s doesn’t care about my feelings. If it did, it would have left as soon as it arrived. It would have spared me the heartbreak, fear, confusion, and sorrow it continues to inflict. It would have faded into the shadows, never to be seen again. It would have kept my heart intact.
No one taught me how to properly face this, and there are times I think I’m getting it all wrong, that I’m failing miserably. I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t prepared. No one showed me how to say goodbye to a loved one who is still living. No one prepared me for the longest goodbye, no one warned me the person I’d be saying it to would one day be my dear, beautiful mother.
As much as it pains me to look in your eyes and say a silent farewell, I know your radiant soul left the physical world a long time ago. It departed when this disease stole the best parts of you—your recognition, your heart, your words, your character, your love. These delicate, vibrant pieces of you have moved on to a better place, I’m certain of it. Although my heart finds solace in this knowledge, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept. It doesn’t make the word “goodbye” any easier to say.
Mom, I don’t want to say goodbye to you. It’s just too hard. Instead, I want to greet you with a warm smile and an excited hello. I want to say I love you, I want to ask how you’re doing, I want to make plans to visit. I want to hear you say my name over and over again. Mom, I don’t want an end, I want a beginning. I don’t want what was, I want what could be.
I’m not just losing you once, I’m losing you as this disease erodes every beautiful piece of you. The longest goodbye stretching out for miles with no end in sight. As the words echo in the hollow spaces of my heart, the sounds of your laughter and love fill those spaces too, a reminder that you are never truly gone.
I look forward to the day when our souls are reunited, when the word goodbye no longer exists, when I can finally say with tears in my eyes and joy in my heart, “Hi, Mom. I’ve missed you.”
Originally published on the author’s blog
by Lauren Dykovitz 
by Margie Untermeyer 
