A review by cherylcheng00
What We Carry by Maya Shanbhag Lang
4.0
This is the legacy of myths. They set an impossible standard. They are alluring for precisely the same reason they are dangerous: They refuse to disclose details. Yet those details, so pesky to myths, are where life occurs. The details tell the true story. The myth is the story as it wishes it could be.
This is why I want this time with her. I want to get to know her while I still can. I want to separate the myth from reality, to reconcile the mom I always imagined with the more complicated person I'm just starting to know.
Love blinds the caregiver to danger. To acknowledge danger is to acknowledge the possibility of loss.
Alzheimer's is devastating because it annihilates one's story. It vacuums it up. Even the name feels greedy to me. What gets me is the apostrophe, the possessive little hook. It drags your loved one away from you. My mom no longer belongs to me. She belongs to the illness.
Some words fit right away. Others take time. What matters is that we hear the dissonance, pay attention to what makes us uncomfortable. No matter the evidence before our eyes. The story we tell ourselves always wins. That is the power of stories, but also their danger.
What does it mean for a woman to choose herself? It means having the audacity to see her own worth. For so long, I couldn't do this. I created illusions.
This is why I want this time with her. I want to get to know her while I still can. I want to separate the myth from reality, to reconcile the mom I always imagined with the more complicated person I'm just starting to know.
Love blinds the caregiver to danger. To acknowledge danger is to acknowledge the possibility of loss.
Alzheimer's is devastating because it annihilates one's story. It vacuums it up. Even the name feels greedy to me. What gets me is the apostrophe, the possessive little hook. It drags your loved one away from you. My mom no longer belongs to me. She belongs to the illness.
Some words fit right away. Others take time. What matters is that we hear the dissonance, pay attention to what makes us uncomfortable. No matter the evidence before our eyes. The story we tell ourselves always wins. That is the power of stories, but also their danger.
What does it mean for a woman to choose herself? It means having the audacity to see her own worth. For so long, I couldn't do this. I created illusions.