Such a Long Goodbye.

   My mom is dying.  Yes, I know we are all dying from the minute we're born.  This is different. She is actively dying.
She has dementia. She's a shell of who she used to be, but she's still in there.
   I see it when she focuses enough to notice things around her, like the kids playing pretend in front of her chair, or my daughter bringing her a glass of water. Or me crying on her shoulder because I miss her. She left so suddenly, it seems, like I never really knew that that last coherent conversation was happening. Oh, the things I would have told her if I'd known. I would have asked her so many things.
   My mom was never one to talk about the past. She had so many challenges in her life; I don't know if she was just too emotional to talk about them, or felt that no one should know. Her childhood, her years as a young adult, and even my early childhood just weren't mentioned very often. She rarely spoke of friends she'd had, experiences that shaped her life, or growing up. It confused me when I was younger because my mom was such a vibrant, strong person.        As an adult, especially when I experienced some very rough things myself, I began to think that maybe she wasn't as strong as she wanted me to think.  
She almost never cried in front of me. I'm not sure whether that was a good thing or not.