For many years, I've been thankful for my mother's sharp mind. But following a fall the night before her 90th birthday, she entered a foreign land of befuddlement. She is cognizant enough to realize she is struggling, but when I look in her eyes, the spark is gone.

Walking through this phase of the caregiving process with her is probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Many days, I am someone else to her, or she scolds me for "siding" with the nursing staff. Some days she is so restless she begs to go somewhere. Anywhere. So I roll her wheelchair up and down the hall of the "memory" unit.

Occasionally, God blesses me with a little glimpse of the familiar personality—a witty quip or a momentary smile. But most days, I sit in the car in the parking lot before going into the care facility and pray, and when I return to the car to cry before I make an attempt to transition back into the real world for the rest of the day.

Here are some things I'm learning in this phase of caregiving:

Correction is Futile

My mother thinks a relative is a nursing assistant on her unit. "She is so mean!" Mama hisses. No matter how many times I explain to her that this relative is not a nurse and doesn't work there, she cannot comprehend. So now I just remind her this person loves her and prays for her and I don't try to convince her of her error.

Cherish Moments

Occasionally, there is immediate recognition and ensuing minutes of semi-normal conversation. Then the moment is gone. Treasure these brief flashes of the parent you remember.

Survival Mode

When you are going through this type of intense emotional experience, if possible, let other things that require lots of time and attention go. Now is not the time to take on any major projects or volunteer for any leadership positions. Opportunities will be there later. Right now, you're in survival mode.

Accept Reality

There is a child-like part of each of us that longs for mom or dad to be well and whole again. In reality, you must accept a new normal. Enjoy moments of laughter with family and friends when you can, and remember this phase of life is only for a season.

Hope and a Future

"Will I ever be well?" Mama asked. "Yes, I believe you'll be well." I answered.

Healing will come with a new, glorified body in heaven, where there is no more pain, suffering, or sadness. I want that for Mama—wholeness, freedom from fear and anxiety, and no more pain—all in God's timing. I am grieving a little each day. I will grieve more after her death, but not as those who are without hope. I will see her again. My life will go on.

This article concludes my column. For more information on balancing life with caring for aging parents, visit www.whenyouragingparentneedscare.com or purchase a copy of When Your Aging Parent Needs Care: Practical Help for This Season of Life by Candy Arrington and Kim Atchley (Harvest House Publishers).