It was such a difficult day.
I found myself becoming more and more upset. It wasn't that I was feeling sorry for
myself. No! In fact it was not about me at all . I found
myself feeling so sad about what was happening to my mother. In the past week she had hit a new low. Unhappily I could see that this was to be the
new normal for her. Alzheimer's Disease
progresses and with regularity there are changes that are at once surprising
and upending and then predicted, expected, and regarded with acknowledgement
that they are signs of what my mother has become...until they are not...until there is a new change--a
new normal. So today I had to face the
fact that more often than not, my mother cannot find the right words to
describe, to ask, to identify. She has
no clue as to who I am other than my name.
She describes both of us (my husband Skip and me) as "those nice
people". Since she has lived with
us for over a year, I have cared for her and answered her every need, yet she
now ascribes the care given to her as being given by others. She watches me as I prepare her food but
moments after being served she cannot tell me who prepared it or who served
her. She no longer knows what she is
eating and even if she likes it she cannot tell me what it is.
So, yes, today was a difficult day and I was sad, so very,
very sad. Then, as I felt heavy with
depression, I went into the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. I stood at the sink and it overcame me. It washed over me like a heavy blanket of gloom. I sighed deeply. I looked for energy to move myself but found
that I was bound by invisible handcuffs.
I couldn't lift my arms. I
couldn't move my feet. My chin dropped
to my chest and tears began to flow. I
told myself to be strong, to smile, to shrug it off. Instead I pushed the sadness deeper inside of
me.
After a minute I successfully buried the sadness and was
able to function. I began my work to
provide a healthy meal for Mom. Shaking
my head I ignored the little voice inside of me that said, "What does it
matter what you make? She won't know the
difference!" Yes. That was true, but I would know. I promised myself that I would be the person
who did the 'right thing' regardless of what she knew or remembered. So...I moved forward. I stirred and chopped. I measured and sliced.
Just then my dear husband walked in from his errands. He had picked up the mail from the box at the
curb and was carrying assorted envelopes.
Among the myriad sizes and shapes, there was a box.
Skip smiled broadly and proudly as he handed me the box saying,
"Here's a surprise for you!" I put the large utility spoon down on
the stove and cleaned my hands.
"What is it?" I asked with anticipation and
(despite my mood) even a little excitement.
"It's a surprise!" Skip repeated not wanting to
say more.
I allowed myself a smile as I reached for a scissors. Opening the package and rummaging through the
packing materials I extracted a beautiful and ornately decorated box that
boasted the letters V.E.R.S.A.C.E. The
smile grew to a grin as I lifted the container and read the name of the perfume
inside. The growing realization was quite surprising: Skip had paid attention when I had rubbed a
sample of the perfume from the advertising enclosure in a magazine a few weeks
prior. He smelled my wrist when I told
him I liked that fragrance. He
remembered the name and ordered it online.
He, who ignores dates I tell him, times to be ready for an event, names
of people about whom I am talking, movies I want to see, and messages I deliver; he remembered this! I was overcome with emotion. I hugged him and thanked him with such
intensity that he searched my face for what he already knew to be my mental
state. I then explained what had
happened and what I felt. His eyes
softened and his brow furrowed with empathy as he told me how sorry he
was. He hugged me and kissed me softly
showing his care and love. My dear
friend--my BEST friend listened to me.
He paid attention. He
acknowledged. He loved.
With apologies to an old creative writing teacher who
instructed me to be careful not to use descriptions that don't make sense, I thought of how I was feeling and the only words that came to me were, ' My
heart swelled with gratitude' and yet I knew that this did not really
happen...or did it? Honestly, it felt
like it had expanded. I put my hand to
my chest to contain the happiness that replaced the sorrow. It was futile. I needed to allow this happiness
to be something I could share. I am so
happy to have my husband with whom I can share my feelings. For some, I realize there is no one. Yet, as a caregiver, I understand the
importance of sharing. It is not that caregivers necessarily want to share, it is that they must share--HAVE to share. I have said it before: we should not keep our
emotions bottled up inside. The negative
emotions will cause damage not only to our psyches but to our bodies and need
to get out. The positive emotions when
shared will bring reminders to others to look for appreciation, joy and
happiness. When we do not have a mate, a
friend, or a confident, we must look for others to hear, to witness, and to
validate. There are people everywhere to
whom we can turn. There are support
groups, counselors, neighbors, family members and kind strangers.
As an 'Expressive', I document my ever-changing shifts of
emotion for all the world to read. I broadcast
the changes to help others to understand and maybe relate to the journey I am
taking. Perhaps others will see,
understand and take action
accordingly. This is my hope. We are not alone and when we realize this;
when we experience the kindness, the thoughtfulness, and the wonderful
surprises that fill our lives, then we can face even the most difficult of
days.
