Both Moms with Dementia

1-1 Mom Who Came to Me!

After my father passed away from stomach cancer in 2004, my mother was left alone in Gwangju, far from us. Ten years later, in 2014, my mother, who could barely walk due to damaged knees, underwent artificial knee replacement surgery. At that point, I brought her to live in the house next to mine. It took a long time for her knees to heal, but I was so happy. For years, I had been too busy as a daughter-in-law to properly care for my mother, but having her close by gave me the chance to make up for the lost time.

I felt joy in small things—snuggling up to her, rubbing my cheeks against hers, and savoring her home-cooked meals again. For about a year, we shared precious moments together.

My daily routine started with visiting my mom next door to say good morning. But one morning was different. There was no sound from her TV, which usually signaled she was awake. I opened her bedroom door, but there was no sign of her stirring.

“Mom, are you sick? Why haven’t you gotten up?”
“I think I have the flu,” she replied weakly.

She had just returned from a three-day church retreat, and the trip seemed to have been too much for her. I made her breakfast and checked on her throughout the day, but she remained in bed the next morning as well. Her breathing was labored, but since she often struggled with shortness of breath, I didn’t think much of it. She refused my suggestion to go to the hospital, assuring me she just needed some rest.

By the third day, she still wasn’t improving and developed a mild fever. Sensing something wasn’t right, I practically dragged her to the hospital. The doctor dismissed it as a simple flu and prescribed medication. However, her condition only worsened over the following days. My fears grew as she became completely bedridden. Worried, I shared a video of her condition in our family group chat. My younger brother, who worked in Seoul, rushed home. When he arrived, he was shocked to see her struggling even to walk. She clung to me as she attempted to go to the bathroom but couldn’t control her bladder, leaving my brother visibly shaken. He insisted we take her to a major hospital in Seoul immediately. Seeing my brother’s shocked reaction to her condition, I felt a pang of guilt. I couldn’t help but feel as if I had neglected her, leaving her to deteriorate to this point.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, she was unresponsive and didn’t recognize any of us. After two weeks of testing, the diagnosis came back: tsutsugamushi disease or scrub typhus, a life-threatening disease with a high mortality rate, transmitted by mites. When a case is reported, public health authorities conduct investigations, and nearby residents are urged to take extreme precautions. It is also a condition announced through public broadcasts due to its seriousness.

While hospitalized, my mother underwent treatment for scrub typhus and additionally received procedures such as a coil embolization for a brain aneurysm and cardiovascular stent insertion. Finally, after more than a month of hospitalization, she was discharged, but she was never the same.

The aftereffects of her illness were severe. My once vibrant and intelligent mother was now like a kindergartener. Her speech diminished, and she struggled to express her needs. To help her regain cognitive abilities, we bought coloring books and children’s workbooks, encouraging her to engage in daily exercises. Slowly, she showed small signs of improvement, becoming slightly more independent.

But something was off. Beyond her diminished cognition, her demeanor had changed. Her once gentle and affectionate personality was replaced with anger and resentment. She lashed out at my father’s portrait, yelling, “You made me suffer so much while you were alive, and now you’re tormenting me even in death!”

She often screamed, “I’m such a cursed woman! Where in the world is there someone as unlucky as me?”

"Are you satisfied now that you've completely ruined the household?" This time, she shouted furiously in a savage tone.

Whenever Mom acted like that, I would think about chiming in with a comment but, afraid that the sparks of her anger might fly in my direction, I would quietly slip away instead.

Mom would shout furiously, pointing her finger in the air, and then take Dad's photo and hide it deep in her room where no one could see it. When she wasn’t looking, I would quietly put the photo back in its place, only for her to become enraged like an embodiment of fury and hide it again, starting a back-and-forth struggle.

Why has mom become like this? Eventually, mom was diagnosed with dementia at the hospital, and she slowly became the focus of my observations.

When mom started shouting at everything and becoming an unpleasant person, it shocked those around us, and people casually spoke without considering my feelings. They said that when someone gets dementia, their true personality shows. Hearing that always hurt me deeply, because my mom was never like that.

My mom was one of the most selfless and kind-hearted people I knew. She was the epitome of a strong woman and homemaker, and like Mencius' mother, who is remembered for her dedication to her child's education, she had an intense passion for raising her children well. At that time, living in the countryside, my mom sent all of us to study in the city. As a result, I had to live apart from my parents from the time I entered elementary school, staying in the city with my older siblings and studying. By the time I was in high school, my mom even received the 'Mother of the Year' Presidential Award for her outstanding qualities as a mother.

Not only that! My mom was always generous, kind, and thoughtful, always taking care of those around her. Even when a vagrant passed through the neighborhood, she would kindly invite them in, prepare a meal, and serve them large portions. Back then, many people were struggling, and times were tough. Yet, our family wasn't well-off either. She would take in children from struggling families, give them clothes from her own children's wardrobe, and would carefully mend or sew up any worn-out clothes to make sure they could wear them again.

Even the postman or passing strangers would never leave without being treated to delicious food. Whenever people came fishing near our country house by the river, mom would set up a large breakfast spread in the morning, carry it on her head, and bring it to them. When military units came for training to a nearby campsite surrounded by pine trees, she would not only bring an enormous amount of kimchi and side dishes but also tell them to come to her house to take anything they needed.

When my siblings and I gather and talk about our childhood, we all agree that we didn’t understand our mother’s actions. We were living modestly ourselves, so we couldn’t understand why she would take care of and give so much to people who weren’t even related to us. We would often express our frustration, asking why she did that. Was it because we were jealous of those people? And then the conversation would end. How did our mother, who used to be so generous, change into someone so different? No matter how often I hear her harsh words and shouting, I can never get used to it.