A Difficult Day

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.