Tsunami of grief...

A few years ago, just a few months after Mom passed, I went to a mental health center for help with my depression. They asked me to go to a grief support group. I originally declined, but ended up going.

I was very uncomfortable in the group from the very beginning. Most of these people were raw with the pain of losing a loved one. I felt like a fraud. I wasn't grieving my mother, I was at peace with her passing. She had been gone a long time even if physically she was still there. I had already grieved. I was in the wrong place.  I wanted help with depression, not a grief that I was not feeling. I left the group.

A very wise friend pointed out that grief did not have to be about death. You can grieve many things: divorce, leaving a job, losing a way of life, the ending of a friendship, etc. It made sense. Not enough to allow me to feel comfortable in the group, but it clicked. Or so I thought.

Tonight her words came crashing down around me. There was no click, it was a huge tsunami. I am grieving. I am desolate with grief. I am so angry (a stage of grief). I have lost so much simply for making a decision that was, really, the only decision I could accept, to help my mother. I have lost an important sibling relationship that cannot be mended. I have lost the financial security that I spent my life building. I have lost my own home. I am a burden to my children. I have lost my health. I have lost myself. Yep, I'm angry.

The other stage that I am experiencing is depression. I am so deep that, at times, I understand why people feel they are emotionally drowning. When a tsunami hits, you usually drown. All of the things that I am angry about are not something that, right now, I have the power to change.

I am tired of trying.

July...

Every year at this time, Mom had melt-downs. Major melt-downs. They were bad and I dreaded the entire month.  Looking back, I'm guessing that she was having panic attacks. They had very real symptoms that could not be ignored. We often spent hours in the ER. 

July was a month of loss for Mom. As a young woman she lost her sister. Later, she lost her father. Then in 2001 she faced the horrible loss of her youngest son whose birthday was the 26th (one day after hers). Less than a year later she lost a second son the day before her birthday. Definitely a month of loss.

The month usually started with overall sadness and tears. As it progressed, she would have chest pains and headaches. I would find her rocking on the couch, holding her head, screaming that she had never felt pain this bad before. I would call 911 and off we would go. Nothing was ever diagnosed. She was always released a few hours later.

The strange part was that she always knew. When the Alzheimer's became so bad that she didn't know what day it was, much less the month, she knew. The tears would start. The panic set in. The symptoms weren't as severe, but she knew.

Here it is, Mom's birthday. I miss my my brothers terribly. They were the ones who brought so much laughter (and so much more) to my now splintered family. And, I can finally say that I miss my mom. The last few years of caring for her are becoming a fading memory. The harsh, sharp edges are softening. No more horrible days for her. July can't hurt her anymore.

July brings me peace.

The Octopus...

My experience as a caregiver ended almost 3 years ago, although it feels like yesterday. Yesterday, because I am still fighting my way out of the destruction. Alzheimer's disease does not care or give favor to anyone. If your family comes in contact with the disease, you become part of the destruction. I have come to think of it as an evil octopus, whom I call Al. Al tries to suck the life out of you. If you are quick enough to start your escape and begin to heal, there is another tentacle attaching itself to you.

There are eight arms on my metaphoric creature:  Faith, Finance, Self worth, Guilt, Anger, Relationships, Health, and Exhaustion. Each one is powerful by itself, but are more effective when they attack the victim in unison, or in pairs. A few are strike and go types of fighters. My faith was attacked, but is strong. My wounds caused by my guilt have mostly healed. Anger has left some healthy scar tissue of acceptance. I've accepted that the relationship that I lost will remain that way.

That leaves a battle with the remaining four- finance, health, self worth and exhaustion. It is so difficult to move ahead when I can't financially provide for my family, when my daughter is supporting us because I can't find a job. That, in turn, leads to a feeling of uselessness. My health is suffering. And here comes exhaustion. That damned Al just leaked all over me with his hidden power and it feels so dark.

I am just so tired of it all. I'm tired of pretending its all okay.

Am I being dramatic? Probably. But, I'm also being realistic. I don't want pity. This is just a continuation of the journey and I need to continue until the story is complete.

Al sucks.

In the trenches...

When I take Mom out, we tend to go to the same places... over and over.  The ladies at McDonald's know that Mom always begs for cookies.  The man at Walmart always nods at us.  Crystal at Burger King knows when Mom is having a bad day.  The repetition is good for Mom and it's easier to deal with Mom's meltdowns in these places.

Today we went to Target and had a "new" clerk check us out.  I say new because she didn't know us.  Mom did her usual varied routine.  Today she was angry with the woman for taking something that belonged to her.  I said my normal, "I'm sorry, she has Alzheimer's."  She smiled and said that she recognized the signs.  I told her that I was sorry that she did because that meant that she has dealt with it.  She said, "Dealing with it. My grandparents and mother."  She said, "But, your mom is still able to get out.  And it's 3 o'clock in the afternoon and you're still nice to her."  She got it!  She wasn't looking down her nose, knowing how to do it better.  She has been in the trenches and knows that despite our best intentions, we do lose our patience.

She made my day.

04/19/14

I am awake...

It's 3 am. I am awake.  I lie here in the dark with only the faintly glowing doorway into the hall showing the way.  20 years of being a mom has trained me to hear the slightest possibility of a noise.  But, I hear nothing but the clock ticking, the dog scratching from her bed, and the deep breathing of my sleeping children.  I am awake.  Waiting.

And there it is.

In the glow of the hall light I see it.  A thin, dark, spindly form.  Staggering, no, waddling?  It throws its weight side to side, almost like a duck.  One step towards the right.  One step towards the left.  Pause.  It's considering where it wants to strike.  It hears me.  It senses my being.  It moves towards me.  One step towards the right.  One step towards the left.  Pause.  It stares right at me.  I hold my breath.  It slowly raises a spindly hand towards me, straightens its too thin body, whirls around and quickly retreats to its den.

As I release my breath, I realize that had I not awakened, I would have missed the quiet approach of the intruder.  But, I was awake and I saw it all.

There will be little sleep tonight as I know that it is aware of me.  It is a matter of time before it returns.

I am awake. 

09/23/14

Holidays...

The holidays are over. The times that families seem to most miss their loved ones who have passed. It's hard to enjoy the many celebrations when there are empty chairs that will never be filled. I have been though many of those holidays.

This year was not one of them. For the first time in a decade, my children and I were able to have special times that were focused on something other than anger and frustrations. That's not true. There were periods of time in the past few years that weren't filled with stress. But, the times were those moments in time I like to bring up every now and again. 

I know there are people who grieve my mother's passing.  I understand and offer my condolences and prayers of comfort. 

I am not grieving. I am rejoicing. I will say it clearly and without shame, I am glad my mother died. I feel as if the world stopped sitting on my shoulders and crapping on me. Sorry, if that is too graphic, but it is true. That's the selfish part and I'm more than okay with that. 

But what makes it easy to be glad is to know that my mother has no more pain. She is no longer struggling with a brain that betrayed her. I was told over and over again during this journey that my mother was in there, that deep down she knew me and she knew what was happening. That though horrifies me. 

For the first time since Mom passed I realized that I don't remember her with anger and resentment. And that is the best gift of all.

3/29/16

And just that fast...

Mom has been up for 18 non-stop, agitated hours.  She just walked out into the living room and asked me, "Can I sit out here with you?"  I didn't answer because, to be honest, I have no answers left today.  I'm drained beyond words.  She responded with, "Aren't you going to talk to me?  Nevermind, I feel like I've taken everything from you today."  

She was there.  My mother was there for the time that it took her to say those words.  As she turned around to leave the room she said, "I haven't eaten in 3 days."  And just that fast, she was gone again.

9/28/14