Letting Go: Drifting Away with Dementia

The other night I had a vivid dream of holding onto a balloon that my 19-year-old daughter was holding on to. It was a bright sunny day, and they both were flying high in the sky. I was watching her soar and enjoy the ride, then something happened. I’m not sure why, but I let go. I don’t know if it was getting too hard to hold onto, but at first, I wasn’t alarmed. Then I realized she was going higher and higher with no way of coming down. And I had let go.

I started to panic. How would I get her down? I ran searching for people to help, but there was no one around. I was alone. My heart raced with fear as I ran after her still holding onto that balloon. What could I do? I felt so helpless. I thought about popping it somehow, but feared she would plummet to the ground.

Then she was gone. Out of sight. All my emotions and thoughts converged at once. I had lost her. I had let go. I couldn’t help her. She was gone. Gone. What would happen to her? Would she be okay? What could I do next to save her? Should I just let her go?

I didn’t have any of the answers when I woke up, just a sinking emptiness that she was gone and there was nothing I could do to save her. To bring her back.

Looking back on the dream, I don’t think it was about my daughter. I think it was about my mom. My mom often jokes that I’m her mother, and she’s my daughter. So the dream makes sense. I fear losing my mom to this awful disease called dementia. She said it best herself. She feels like she’s losing herself and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Nothing I can do to stop it.

Whether I have to let her go or can’t hold on to her any longer, it doesn’t matter. The result is the same. She is floating away. Though she says she’s ready to leave this earth for her earthly home, she is still here slowly losing herself. And I’m powerless to stop it. All I can do is watch her slowly drift away, farther and farther from me wondering what to do next, and if she’ll be okay.