The Day I Yelled at My Mom with Dementia and the Grace She Gave Me Anyway by debra rich gettleman
Top 5 Things to Remember When Caring for a Parent With Dementia
Their fear is real — even when the situation isn’t actually dangerous.
Your patience will crack sometimes — it’s human, not failure.
Familiar routines (like beauty appointments) are lifelines.
Deep breaths help… until they don’t.
The love underneath it all still shows up — often when you least expect it.
Losing one’s memory and mind is a tragedy. Losing one’s temper with someone who is losing their memory and mind feels like a crime. At least, that’s how I felt the day I completely snapped at my 88-year-old mother while driving her to the same hair salon she’d been going to for over 40 years.
My mom has always been anxious — tightly wound, alert to catastrophe, a one-woman early warning system. Now, with dementia, every fear is amplified. Watching her unravel over a missing phone or misplaced wallet is excruciating. I breathe. I count. I meditate. I try. But sometimes her panic hits my panic, and the whole thing collapses on itself.
On my last trip back to Chicago, I found myself rushing to get her to her weekly hair appointment — one of the few rituals she still enjoys. I knew these streets like the back of my hand once, but Chicago has a way of reinventing itself. Stores vanish. Buildings become Targets. Whole strip malls disappear. And somewhere in all that urban renovation…I drove right past the salon.
About fifteen minutes later, something felt off.
Cheerfully — too cheerfully — I said, “Oh, how funny! Looks like I missed the salon,” and made a cautious U-turn.
Then she saw the clock. 12:00. Exactly.
“Oh my G-d,” she gasped, her voice tightening. “I’m going to be late. She’ll never take me. There won’t be time. We’re lost. OH NO. WE’RE LOST. CALL HERB!”
(Herb, her 94-year-old partner. Blind. Cannot use his hands. Perhaps not the most helpful in an emergency.)
“CALL THE POLICE!”
My reassurances were useless — her anxiety was a runaway train, and I was strapped to the front.
Meanwhile, Chicago drivers were doing their usual Chicago driver thing — cutting me off, braking hard, drifting across lanes. One car darted out, I slammed the brakes, Mom screamed, and something in me just… snapped.
“STOP IT! IT’S ALL FINE! I’M TRYING TO DRIVE! CAN YOU JUST STOP SCREAMING FOR ONE SECOND?”
Instant silence.
She folded into the corner of the seat, tears pooling, terrified.
The guilt hit me like a tidal wave.
I sheepishly found the salon, shame flooding into body as I hit the turn signal.
Once stopped, I helped wipe away Mom’s smudged mascara — yes, she still insists on wearing it every day.
Walked her inside.
Her hairdresser took one look at me and wrapped her arms around me.
“I know, sweetheart. This is so very hard.”
That compassion broke me.
I bolted back to the car and sobbed into the steering wheel.
Thirty minutes later she emerged, freshly coiffed, smiling like nothing had happened. When she saw my red, swollen face, she said, panicked:
“Oh my gosh, are you okay, sweetheart? What happened?”
And I fell all over myself apologizing.
“I’m so sorry I lost my temper, Mom. I shouldn’t have—”
She interrupted instantly.
“No. No. You did nothing wrong. I love you. It’s me. It’s all me. I’m impossible. I know I am. I feel myself spiraling and I can’t stop it. Please never blame yourself. You’re the best part of my life. When you visit, everything is brighter. Please don’t go away. Please keep coming home. You’re perfect. It’s all me.”
Something shifted in that moment.
A strange, surprising grace washed over me.
This won’t be the last time I get overwhelmed or grieve the mother I’m losing piece by piece. But that moment reminded me: even as the world inside her dissolves, something true remains. Something deep and old and rooted.
She still knows me.
She still loves me.
She still shows up.
And right now, that is enough.
dōteworthy:
· It’s Not a Burden (documentary film) — A funny, heartwarming look at caregiving that reminds us why love (and laughter) get us through the hardest days.
· The folks over at gray monster are “here to make caregiving less isolating and more manageable” Caregiver Crash Out - Gray Monster describes the burnout that can happen with caregiving.