Guilt. Gratitude. Grace.


Long distance care giving is not easy.  Many days are filled with guilt of not being there to help in the moment of a mini-crisis, especially the first days, weeks, months of diagnosis.  And especially when the disease progresses in a heartbeat.

My guilt recently has begged the question ‘should I move back home? I should share the load.’ Through many, many conversations with my sister, I have realized that the answer for me is no, that is not what mom would want.  Plus I am the one who wears my heart on my sleeve and I would be an emotional mess, not what mom nor anyone else needs.

My sister and I have become the dream team mom needs.  She does on the ground trouble shooting and I tackle the research we may need in the moment.  We work in tandem, fighting off the bad guys, protecting the demented lady and finding laughter and ice cream along the way J

Any advice that I have to give is surround yourself with your tribe.  Those ones who will take that late night call, take you to coffee just because, play Words With Friends.  And especially the ones who make you laugh.  Belly laughs are the best.

Twitter is my resource for caregiving tips and Maria Shriver’s website has incredible blogs.  Alzheimer’s and front-temporal dementia is overwhelming and puts me into Exhaustion (see previous post).

And not being in the thick of the disease gives me a different perspective. Perspective that has given me the gift of gratitude.  Who would think I would have gratitude for dementia??  Dementia has taught me deep gratitude for laughter, for the voice on the other end of the phone, for the moments of clarity, long-ago memories and love.

Alzheimer’s and front-temporal dementia suck.  There’s no other way to put it.  Just sucks.  But somehow, someway, grace sneaks in.  That definition of grace – simple elegance or refinement of movement.  The rich love, the silly giddiness of life; the respect and admiration of courage during dark and troubling times.  Mom has led Voyageur and myself through the crazy maze of dementia, ever reminding us that life is the journey.


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