My mom has dementia. She has been in a nursing home for 3 years now. She has been in a steady decline and having a conversation with her now, is like having a conversation with someone using predictive text: It makes very little sense. I have been grieving the loss of my mom for more than 3 years, yet, she is still alive.
But, every so often she will have moments of lucidity. As the disease erodes her brain, those moments become less often, but we rejoice in them when they do happen.
I’ve come to realize, that my grief in losing Sam, often is like dementia. Well, the lucid moments anyway – not the memory loss. Sometimes I wish I could just forget everything: it would hurt a lot less. But then, that would mean I would forget Sam and I never want to forget Sam or the life that we lived with him while he was here. It’s the lucidity side of dementia I’m talking about.
This morning, I had a few brief moments where I felt giddy. And fun. I was more like the carefree and loving spirited Judi that I was before we lost Sam. Randy commented ” I’m glad to see you’re happy this morning”.
We actually had a brief conversation that felt like the old days. But then he said something that brought me back to my reality. And back to the dark. I don’t even remember what it was and it wasn’t anything that remotely even mentioned Sam. But it was a word apparently, that triggered the grief response in me.
Maybe Grief just hadn’t awoken yet; or maybe she was letting me out for a little air. 🤔 whatever the case, it was a simple little word, in conversation, completely unrelated to anything I’m going through that sent me back to the dark. I’m beginning to think that my grief is losing the fight against depression. I’m barely treading the water that sits above the thicker, darker quick sand that lays beneath it. And what would scare me if I was afraid of death, is how I don’t even care to fight it. But I’m not afraid of death. I’d almost welcome it, but for the guilt Id feel for my living children and Randy and my pets if I were to go.
I struggled to get ready for work yesterday. In saying that, I don’t mean I didn’t want to get dressed : It literally took three attempts to put my tee shirt on . First, I got my arms into it and it felt wrong, so I pulled it off and held it up in front of me, holding the little tear where I ripped the tag off many months ago to the back, and pulled it on over my head. And it was still back wards. I finally got it right on the third attempt. I’ve dressed myself for at least 53 years. I thought I had it figured out but yesterday proved otherwise. 😒 Maybe I’m not as far off from dementia as I thought I was.