Where is the love...

Today I read an article written by a celebrity who is dealing with dementia in her mother. I could identify with a great deal of her story.  She talked about the beginning years of the disease and how the family dealt with the changes. Early on, they confronted the social mistakes her mother made with humor and few explanations, just so people would not suspect the reality of the disease. 

After the disease had progressed for several years, her father had to call 911 because he believed he was having a heart attack.  While he was waiting for the paramedics to arrive, he was worried and stressed about his wife.  What would happen to her?  Thankfully, he was not experiencing a heart attack.  But, he was dealing with the physical effects of the stress and anxiety of being a caregiver.  All of this struck a chord with me... a painfully loud chord. 

I cried at the love that I felt in her words. But, the similarities of the situations stop here.  I think my words convey a lot of things... frustration, responsibility, anger, and resignation among them.  Rarely do I write of loving my mom.  I used to love her.  If pressed, I guess there is still love.  Unfortunately, the resentment and anger towards the disease and the situation far outweigh any love that I have left towards her.  And that is a realization worthy of tears.