When you are a parent of young children and your kids are anywhere in a crowd they shine out to you. Top of the class, front of the line, star of the show. You look around and think “why is no one looking at my miracle, my darling my joy?” Then you realize everyone is looking at their own, thinking exactly the same thing.
When your dad goes into a LTC facility, you walk into that place and there is no way your person belongs there. They stand above. There are grey haired people with wrinkles and crumpled bodies folded almost without bones into chairs. There is drooling, and limbs that lie limp. There are unexpected outbursts and accidents and bizarre behaviour. There is a smell of loneliness.
In those places I am sure the same thing happens. Everyone is looking at their loved one thinking they are top of the class and don’t belong there. Your joy, your person is top of the class- how is it that they belong here. Am I dreaming?
Going there is hard. Not going there means you don’t have to think of him that way. I can be busy and forget mortality and age and the tragedy of Dementia. But if I don’t go I feel very badly. I think of him feeling things he can’t express and maybe even feeling lost. Or alone.
I arrived today the way I used to go to pick up my young children. I would sneak in and spy. I would see how they lived outside of me- how they interact, socialize and how they look when they don’t know anyone is looking. Then you approach them slowly to let the joy of them seeing you wash over them. His face lights up and he says, big smile, ” It’s you”. The sweet of this runs through the blood like sugar. Today he remembers my name. For my children they slowly became people who told me complex things when we greet each other. Here it is slowly getting simpler. One day he will not know me. One day he will not speak.
I take him out to the courtyard and we go for a walk. We are making each other laugh. We speak the same language. I brought our favourite ice cream bar. We sit for a while in the warm sun. He looks at me and says “You are growing up so beautifully.” I am 47. I start to cry. Really hard. I don’t look away and neither does he. He studies my wet face.
I don’t like growing up.
thanks mom! you have shown all of us the way. love you bigxn
I don’t usually forward your pieces Nancy as I’ve talked a lot about your blog and people know where to find you but i couldln’t miss passing this one on. I knew it would touch many people who are in our positon or are remembering their own parents decline. Dementia is a very cruel disease. It robs you of yourself and you cease very early on, to be the person everybody knew. Your dad, has been graceful in his decline with moments of hilarity, often rude but good for a laugh. Laughter has been the best thing throughout this and as all the experts say, a great tonic.
You really hit the nail on the head with this blog – keep up the loving work. xxmom
What a beautiful and heart wrenching expression of your love for your father. That smile of his is definitely “Denise The Menace ” !! My love to all of your family. Janet
Thank you for reading and commenting! I gather my mom forwarded this to her best pals.I love your story and you are right- in spite of your sadness and loss you have treasured memories with the man you loved. Life is full of so much- best to you, xoxoxox n
Nancy—it will be 2 years this October 9th since Bill left me FOR GOOD–although, as we know in the case of dementia–it was much longer. As I sit in my office now & look at a wedding picture of MY bill walking his “princess” down the aisle—there he is—The Boss—just behind us in that picture. Knowing your dad–don’t think he’d ever thought “he’d be BEHIND Bill—but, there he is—just a few years behind him….
Bill always said your Mom was his favorite Canadian…thank God we are strong women—yourself included—and I drown my sorrows in the thoughts and memories of having had him—almost all my life…and what a life we had. Not everyone gets that chance…Love you…
Thanks jackie and thank you especially for all the wonderful ways you spoiled my mom on her visit with you. xn
Hi Nancy, Great story and beautifully written. I am always thinking over my professional life – “it could easily be me” in the LTC facility – now maybe sooner than later! xxJJ
Laurie! Thank you for this. A million great memories and great support of each other. xoxoxn
thank you- for reading and commenting and always being great friends to our whole family. xn
Nancy, I think of you and your family often. We have been together for so many family events in our younger years. There are many fun memories. You have a wonderful writing style and yes “Growing Up” instantly brought me to tears. We have to cherish each day. Blessings!
Nancy: You have been so supportive of both your Mom and Dad over the past several years. Reminds me of the years visiting my Mom in a LTC facility when she didn’t know me – so keep remembering him as he was and is still.
very sweet, tender and thoughtful Nancy.
do we have to go all the way to Temogami?
PS. I want in on that night of wine and chatting with Sara.
Moving and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing. Your experience reminds me of when my Grandmother Mary had a stroke and was in the hospital for years. I think she understood us but she couldn’t speak, it must have been so frustrating for her. I know it was difficult to visit her at times.
Becca- thank you for stopping in- it means a lot to have moved you and others. In the end – we want to tell the story that we are all in. Or will be one day. I hope to meet you one day!
Jen- thank you for drawing my attention to this post that was written in the heat of your sadness. I often feel like I am writing about this stuff with people like you in mind. xn
thank you Amreen. I know you share the struggle. xn
Probably the most compelling entry I’ve read all year… I’m still in tears. I can’t even imagine.
I am weeping reading this. That shift that happens where you are now the caregiver, the worrier. That was one of the hardest things.
When my mom was sick I wrote about it here: http://www.urbanmoms.ca/moms_the_word/2009/06/love-you-forever-however-we-can.html
And by the way, you are growing up so beautifully. xo
Wow. this is so thoughtful and beautifully written. Your words move me to tears. You’re a good daughter and he is lucky to have you. Be strong, my friend.
Oh Nancy – you and I really need one big long night of wine and chat. My grandmother was in a LTC for the last 8 years of her life as she battled dementia…every emotion you described is EXACTLY how I felt every time I went in there (which was at least once a week for those years). It’s so, so hard and I’m sending you big hugs because to watch a parent go through that must be devastation – I sometimes think one of the ‘positives’ (she says loosely) of my mom dying at 59 is that she’d be spared the agony of aging.
xxxx
bless you Christine.
I am sure the gift of him is hard to open at times. xn
I feel the same way with Cuyler’s autism.
“He’s not nearly as autistic as those kids…” “He’s way higher functioning…”
But I know.
Now I do as he approaches 8.
He’s nowhere near as typical as I hoped, prayed or thought he would be.
{{Hugs}} to you for taking such good care of your dad. I can’t imagine the path you are walking right now.