I knew the day would come. I thought I had prepared for it. I thought I would accept it with grace. I thought wrong.

There was no glimmer of recognition when I visited Mom today. She wanted to go out, and I hoped that once we were in the car, and playing her favorite music, things would click into place. “You Are My Sunshine” played. She stared straight ahead. “I’ll Fly Away” came on. No reaction. No toe tapping, no humming along, no singing. “Amazing Grace” played and nothing changed. It’s hard to sing along when hot tears are running down your face. I tried, and I heard myself choking on the words.

We ate at our favorite Sunday spot. Up until now, I’ve been able to piece together the words and phrases she utters and carry on a somewhat coherent conversation. Today, nothing made sense. I nodded, and smiled, and said, “Oh, yes,” while I felt the gulf widen between us. I wanted to scream, “Come back! Don’t leave!” as I watched her retreat into her own world, blank eyes staring forward.

When we entered her residence, she walked towards one of the male residents, and kissed him gently on the cheek, and placed her hand on his neck. I knew this action. This was how she used to kiss Dad. I was both overcome by gratefulness that she still had someone to love (and be loved by), and a deep yearning for Dad, who I continue to miss dearly.

Even though I know it’s not likely, I continue to hope that there may be recognition on a future visit. With Dad, even as he was dying, he knew we were there. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to physically be with someone, and yet not be with them, at the same time.