For close to 10 years now, Mother's Day always comes upon me with mixed feelings.

With the oppressive fog of dementia at its peak, I never not find myself - nay, fear - what is going on in Mama's mind as she sits, unable to speak, lift a finger or move at all.

#dementia280

More so now that it has been 6 months since the last tangible lighthouse memory she had left, has since went off from this side of eternity.

I always wonder, how she must feel helpless, unable to rouse herself in the event of a nightmare, or call for help.

How she can't shrug herself off a bad dream, or unpleasant memory and has to wait it out until her body allows her eyelids to open.

How she has to wait it out whatever horrors that may turn up in her sleep.

See, she hasn't spoken in years.

In the beginning, her memory would flow into one another like a bad movie CGI (remember those glaring bloops of Wolverine when it came out came out in 2013? ).

Or like those convoluted Nigerian movie plots that seem to be developed on the go.

Bizarre.

Before Mama's speech completely called it a day 2015/16, save from daddy dearest - she couldn't tell who was physically present and who wasn't.

The confusion & agitation trying to convince her that you are her daughter and not not Ndunge, her sister who had died over 10yrs past.

So we stopped correcting her.

Save le father who was the only memory she knew was present and recognized, the rest of us kids blended in and out and we went by whatever her brain woke up thinking of us and went with the flow.

#dementia280

[ I thought that being a last born and being named - all names - after her mother would earn me some special cognition rights. Dementia don't care smh ]

#dementia280

I wondered - and still do - if all of us are just a bunch of memories to Mama, and how her mind unable to tell what is real or not, it chose silence as a way to deal with it, and protect itself from hoping lest it is as she fears.

#dementia280

It is a little difficult and jarring seeing how she was stoic, a literal force to reckon with. And watching all that melt like a stick of butter over low, low heat that you have not control over.

And the helplessness of not being able to 'fix' this for her.

Mama was - and would still be if her mental faculties were up and about - a devout Christian, and the Bible was her course text, manual, creed. She lived by it, ran her projects off of it.

It made sense to go back to the Text that meant so much to her.

Psalm 139:1-13

[Of course, like any proper extra African mother, she was and AIC version of PCEA Women Guild. How they throw subliminals at your waywardness via hymns/scripture after a seasoned beating from time to time LOL.

Which is hard to reconcile who she was and her docile nature now].

The way my fickleness is set up, there will be doubt, but the plan, is not to lose sight of this. So I put it here because I am hoping not to lose sight of that.

That wherever her mind wanders off to today, Mama is in good hands.

#dementia280

But today, Today is a good day. Mama is here, not the kind of here we'd opt for, but we'll take the here that has been dealt with us.

A little bummed out but glad that Mama is here with us, dementia notwithstanding, this Mother's Day.

#dementia280

[Been journaling about this off and on in this thread. Need to clean it up and have all these in some prose of sorts for easy tracking. ]

Where it all started: https://twitter.com/Warh1a/status/826739035678920704