Forgetting my birthday
Last year, my mother - diagnosed with early dementia at the time - forgot my birthday for the first time ever. When I told her afterwards, she didn’t seem to care. “What do you want me to do?” I cried so hard.
Just now, I called her to chat. I asked her if she knew what day it was today.
Mom: September? I have the calendar in front of me.
Me: Hmm do you remember the date of your daughter’s birthday?
Mom: (Laughs apologetically) No, sorry I don’t remember.
Me: That’s okay. It’s August 23. This Sunday. Do you know how old I am turning?
Mom: Ha… I don’t know. 53?
Me: (Laugh) Do I look 53? I’ll be 50!
Mom: You really don’t look 50, more like 30s. But don’t tell others. It’s your secret!
I feel strangely content that I am finally at peace with my mom’s memory fail and confusion with some (many) things. I think I’ve finally accepted her as she is now.