On Saturday, I took my mom out to lunch.
She didn't know who I was.
That was ... odd.
Mom has Alzheimer's disease. And as it eats away her brain, she remembers fewer and fewer people. My niece, who mom sees daily, is "that woman". My niece's kids, mom's great-grandchildren, are "those children". She's always polite to people, but it's clear that she knows who very few of them are.
And now I've joined the "forgotten" list.
Oh, it's not sad. I mean, it IS, but it's not like anything can be done about it. Just like nothing can be done about how mom can't cut up her own food anymore, or really even eat without getting half the meal on the floor and in her lap. It's just the progression of the disease.
And my mom is not unhappy. Just as the disease takes away her memory, and her ability to handle a knife and fork, it takes away the realization that there is something terribly, terribly wrong going on in her brain. Mom has no idea that she's not, well, herself anymore. She is what she is.
Sometimes, I just miss what she was.