Bless the caregiver . . .
I have been on the computer and my journal very little lately. Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing or that there’s anything of much interest to say. I’ve got lots of pictures to share, but sometimes even they don’t seem very important. And, I apologize for my lack of comments to friends.
I have a hard time sharing feelings like this and rarely talk about my emotions. I was always taught, ironically by my mother, to hide unpleasant things, keep your bad news in the closet, so to speak. So, I don’t open up with stuff like this very often.
I was talking to my sister on the phone the other day about depression. I think I am in one most of the time, not a huge one, but nevertheless, I recognize it and it is there. I sometimes picture myself bobbing and floating in a dark pool of water and every once in a while I put my arm and hand upward and grab onto something familiar for a little while, but then sink, bob or just float around again. I don’t like being this way and I do try to help myself as best I can, but sometimes I just go with it. I am good at hiding, functioning properly when I have to or when others are watching.
My mom is bad right now, although improved a bit yesterday, and even though I am not there with her, I feel such heartache. She is at the final stages of her life and I think she is ready to go. It is very hard to hope for it to be over, because she’s my mom! and I selfishly don’t want her to be gone, even though it seemed on a huge level several years ago that I lost her. Alzheimer, senile dementia, whatever name you put on it, is a terrible and hideous disease-one of the worst there is. It is equally, if not even more difficult for the loved ones than the patient. I’ve heard it called “the long goodbye,” and that is such an apt name for it. A sad and long goodbye.
My mom’s mind was always so active, she was articulate and smart, up on current events, good health, love and devotion to her family was so important to her; and now to have all that gone from her mind, the memories of her family and life wiped out . . . I often wonder if that is to be my fate, too. Her older sister, Liz, had something so similar and lived for years after her mind was gone, but her other siblings, three brothers, died at a much younger age with their minds intact, but their body failed them. I’ve thought for years if I was given the choice of losing my mind or my body, I’d choose to lose my body and keep my mind.
Over the miles, through visits and contact with my sister, I truly have a sense now most of the time that mom is either ready to go or doesn’t understand what is happening to her. She’s confused or frightened, uncomfortable even, but still she seems to keep fighting, hanging on. I just don’t want her to suffer, I want her to be comfortable and at peace, but by her sounds and the look on her face, especially her eyes, it does not seem like she even understands why she is still here. Right now she is mostly unresponsive and sleeps most of the time. My sister says she has lost interest in eating and now even drink. But we have seen her like this before and still she rallies round, but never to quite the place she was before. My sister said she smiled so sweetly at her yesterday, but for just a moment, then she was gone. Oh, mom!
Oh, my . . . I’m walking in a fog right now, not able to control things and can’t see much beyond these feelings. Well, I have gotten that out . . . at least that is something and hopefully something positive for me, even though I know it is not about me. I don’t know if I feel any better or not, but I think it is probably good that I got it out instead of always holding it all in.