Writing While Watching Her Forget

There are moments when my mother asks me a question, and I have to pause before I answer—not because I don’t know what to say, but because I’m trying to choose patience over honesty.

Sometimes the question doesn’t make sense.
Sometimes it’s the same question she’s already asked me… three, four, five times.

And for a split second, before I can catch myself, the thought crosses my mind—

What kind of question is that?

Then just as quickly, I hear her voice.
Clear as day.

“Don’t ask me no stupid ass questions.”

And just like that, the roles reverse in a way I never signed up for.

I always think about the things she used to say to me as a child when I’m dealing with her now.

And that’s where it gets complicated.

Because if I’m being honest, a lot of what she said to me back then… wasn’t right. It wasn’t kind. And now I find myself fighting the urge to respond to her the same way she used to respond to me.

Most days, I win that fight.

But not all of them.

Sometimes my mouth gets a little smart. Just a little. And almost immediately, I feel it—regret. Guilt. Like I failed some test I didn’t even know I was taking.

Because now, it’s not just about me and her anymore.

It’s about my girls.

They’re watching how I handle this. Watching how I speak to her. Watching what patience really looks like in real life—not the pretty version people talk about, but the hard, uncomfortable kind.

And the truth is… patience is something she never really had with me.

But somehow, it’s the very thing I’m being called to have with her.

What scares me the most about continuing this journey with her… is knowing that one day, she’s going to completely check out on me.

And when that happens, I’ll have to remember everything for the both of us.

If she’s hungry.
If she needs to use the bathroom.
If she’s tired.
If she’s sick.

Right now, even with all the complaining, she still gets the final say. She can still decide what she wants.

But what happens when that choice becomes mine?

Will I be choosing what she wants… or what’s easier for me?

Will I even know the difference?

She tells me all the time, “I’m not your child—you’re mine.”

And she hates having to listen to me now.

So I wonder…

When I’m all she has left, will that even be enough?

I show up for her because I’m what she has.

There’s no one else.

I show up because I hope one day, my kids will show up for me—because they’ve seen what it really means to be there for your parents.

And if I’m being honest… I show up because I don’t even know what the other option is.

I’m still dealing with some of the things she put me through as a kid. That doesn’t just disappear.

But I refuse to let that define me.
I don’t want to carry around “mommy issues” for the rest of my life.

So in a strange way… taking care of her now feels like something bigger than just responsibility.

It feels like a lesson.

For her.

On what it actually looks like to love your child the right way. To show up. To protect them. To choose them—even when it’s hard.

And maybe this sounds wrong, but I’ll say it anyway—

A part of me hopes she sees the difference.

I hope she sees the way I love my kids… and realizes where she fell short.

I can tell sometimes that she does.

I can see it.

And as messed up as it might sound…

That makes me feel a little better.

Like maybe, before she forgets everything—

she’ll remember what it should have been.

And tomorrow, I’ll answer her again like it’s the first time.

If this resonated with you, you’re not alone…