Got a chance to sit down with my dad over the holiday. As words grow more difficult to pluck out of his brain, he’s becoming a master at charades. It might be sad, except he’s so gleeful to have outwitted dementia, he grins like a kid at summer camp as he’s Marcel Marceauing whole sentences.
He asked how I was doing. “I feel strong,” I told him. “Like I’m finally doing what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
It’s this blog. It doesn’t make money, and for the most part it’s a huge liability re: future career possibilities. But I can’t shake that when I’m here, I’m doing something important, even if I don’t understand the why or how. I feel like I am becoming something I didn’t know to hope for.
With one fist, my dad grabbed my words out of the air between us. With the other hand, he opened an imaginary door in his chest. “Do this,” he instructed, as he mimed stuffing my thoughts inside his own heart.
So I told him I thought the silver lining of his dementia was that I could see who he was under the cracked shell of who he’d been. It took me like three minutes to get the whole idea out there.
For this, he had no fine mime response. He blank-faced me, unresponsive and inscrutable. I mean, I got nothing. Was he offended, moved to tears, asleep with his eyes open? Only the shadow knows. There was excruciating silence. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and excused myself to the restroom. When I came back, he was gone. The get-together went on for another hour or so, but I didn’t see him again.
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It was truth when I told him I felt strong. I’m also sleeping all the time. I’m in the midst of a multi-loaf sourdough bread-n-butter bender. I flounder aimlessly on TCT projects, unable to focus on any creative thought when TV and wine are such easy distractions. Also, I’ve worn the same jeans and bra every day this week. Strong? Yes. Fully functional? No.
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On the plus side, excommunicated relative hijacked their spouse’s facebook page and put up some ranty post that, of course, showed up on my page. Unlike the email, which rustled my jimmies, this made me laugh. I mean, it’s funny that this person keeps talking as if their opinions matter.
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Finally, I signed up for the BlogHer conference in San Jose this summer. Onward and comingoutward, etc., etc. I’ll be going to the small, Thursday thing, and not sticking around for the weekend extravaganza. If you are in the area and want to hang out Wednesday evening, are attending the Thursday thing, or will be around Thursday after classes, send me a note!
Ugh! BlogHer? You are really gonna do it?
hrmph.
envy.
Now I wish I could go!
I can’t claim that we’re friends, although I care about you. Here is what I would hope somebody would tell me, if they had been down this path themselves:
It’s time to see a doctor…..because you’ve been really brave on your own behalf, and been strong for so long, but it’s just not working any longer, and help is needed. This is a hard time of year, and it’s hard to have many small kiddos, and it’s time to try something else. Sleeping too much and wine don’t mix. Overeating and wine don’t mix. Lexapro’s chemistry is nullified by wine.
January is just a miserable time, but it’s also a time when people are taking stock and saying, “You know what? This doesn’t work for me anymore.” There are always choices. Best wishes and hugs……….
This is lovely, and heartbreaking, and so full of strength and frailty and deliberate effort to put one foot ahead of the other and march forward. I wish I could attend BlogHer in a handmade “Anne Nahm Fan” shirt just in case you might see. <3
I second the comments of Flight Medic. I think you need to be seeing someone, if you are not already, although you will need to find the right person, you will still have to do most of the work yourself, and it will take some time.
I also don’t presume to be a friend or acquaintance, but although I am a bit washed up at the moment, largely due to age, I do have connections.
Without giving away the great big Thang, what do you want to do with your life? How can we help?
hugs to you!
“But I can’t shake that when I’m here, I’m doing something important, even if I don’t understand the why or how. I feel like I am becoming something I didn’t know to hope for.”
Hit the wrong key and published it before I was done.
“But I can’t shake that when I’m here, I’m doing something important, even if I don’t understand the why or how. I feel like I am becoming something I didn’t know to hope for.”
I am hoping I can find what you’ve found.
(Recommend: Richard Rohr, FALLING UPWARD)
The feedback about counseling is somewhat unsettling. I thought I was coping OK. However, with more than one person taking the risk to comment on it, I will take it under advisement.
Everyone could use a friend like Flight Medic. You have given wise and gentle counsel. It has made me think about my own path. Good luck Anne. Your journey is inspiring.
If I had it to do over, I would look for some processing help for the journey I went through with my mother’s dementia. I did have good friends on similar paths and we were able to share sometimes, and I mixed it up with hits of youth – a delightful grandbaby, but in and of itself? A brutal journey, and not one I would wish on anyone. Do take care of yourself in the ways that work best for you.
I want to meet up in San Jose in spite of the fact that I only ever lurk and rarely comment here. Is that stalkerish and weird?