you ever just hit a wall at 2am, you know? like the house is finally quiet and the kids are asleep and you’ve graded the last paper and you’re just… sitting there. and it hits you. the weight of everything. it’s not even a big thing that sets it off, usually. it’s like a thousand little papercuts that finally make you bleed. tonight it was just watching my mom trying to fold a towel and getting it wrong, like really wrong, like she was trying to invent a new shape, and she looked up at me with this sweet, blank stare and said “dear, have we met?” and i just… every single day. every day. and you know you’re supposed to be patient. you read the articles, you listen to the podcasts. ‘dementia is a cruel thief,’ they say. and it is. it absolutely is. but sometimes you just want to scream. like, you just spent an hour explaining what a debit card is, AGAIN, and then you have to explain that no, you don’t work at the library anymore, remember? you’re a teacher now. and she just smiles and says “oh, you’re so clever, dear.” like she’s talking to a stranger. sometimes i wonder if it’s easier for her, this blank slate, than it is for me. for us. the ones left with the memories. it’s just… you’re 35. you’re supposed to be in your prime, right? building your career, raising your kids, maybe even having a moment to yourself for god’s sake. but instead, every spare second is just… caregiving. and then you feel guilty for even thinking that. because she’s your mom. she raised you. and she calls you “dear” like she always has, even though she doesn’t know who you are. it’s this weird disassociation. like a parallel universe where your mother exists but not *your* mother. and i find myself trying to prompt her, like a prompt in an AI, trying to trigger a memory. “remember that time we went to the beach, mom? you wore that big hat?” nothing. just a gentle smile. and then the kids wake up and need breakfast and your own little people are calling “mama, mama” and you’re in teacher mode all day trying to connect with teenagers who mostly just stare at their phones and you’re trying to be present, to be a good role model, to be an expert in something. anything. but inside, it’s just this constant feedback loop of feeling like you’re failing everyone. not enough for the kids, not enough for the students, definitely not enough for my mom who thinks i’m just some nice young woman who stops by for a chat. i don’t even know what i’m looking for here. just… the feeling. you know? that constant low hum of existential exhaustion. it’s not even sadness exactly. it’s more like a profound sense of… disconnect. like my entire identity is fracturing into these different roles, and none of them quite fit. and the only person who used to ground me, who knew exactly who i was, is now calling me “dear.” and i just smile back and reintroduce myself. every single day. every day.