Overwhelming?

o-ver-whelm-ing (v r-hw l m ng, -w l -). adj. Overpowering in effect or strength, crushing

There is no predictability with FTD or Alzheimers.  Some progress very quickly, others not so much.  Some have inappropriate behavior and say outrageous stuff.  Others don't.  The only thing that is predictable is progression.  No cure.  Minimal treatment to stave off symptoms (if she remembers to take the freakin' medication).  Actual diagnosis at autopsy.

No question FTD, dementia, Alzheimer's is overwhelming, overpowering and at times crushing.  But it doesn't stop us.  In fact, it emboldens us.

I go home for a visit in a couple of weeks.  The last time I was home in May she was worse than the 6 month previous visit.  And I can tell talking to her over the phone, her symptoms have progressed substantially since May's visit.

I didn't realize how much I leaned on her parenting until pieces of her began to slip away.  Her advice, reminding me not to take everything so seriously and personally.  I lead a pretty amazing life, mostly because she and dad believe(d) in me.  Told me I can do anything, achieve anything.  Mom says I'm adventuresome.  It's true, but she was behind me, encouraging me all the way.

Anything is possible.  That's what mom and dad taught me.  At home there is a wood carving dad did with 3 round balls inside a rectangle.  He carved it from one piece.  He burned into the wood 'The impossible just takes a little longer.'

There may not yet be a cure for mom, but we can make sure she has a great quality of life.  Mom and dad made sure we had a rich childhood.  Now, it's our job to make sure mom has rich golden years.

I call mom daily.  We talk about the weather (kind of in-depth, I used to find it boring, but it's something she knows and enjoys), what I ate for dinner, what she ate (she now is eating shrimp because the last time I was home, she and I had shrimp together) and anything either of us did that day. I keep my conversations simple, knowing her brain has trouble with complex conversations.

In the beginning, it used to be hard to have these simple conversations.  I wanted to tell her more, rely on her more.  I found the loss of who she was overwhelming.  Not so much anymore.  I know she looks forward to our conversations.  If I call her earlier in the day, she forgets and calls me later at night, when she's in bed.  We laugh.  More than anything we laugh.  Laugh at the silliness of the day, at my cat, at life itself.  She's still my mom.  She's still teaching me.  Overwhelmed?  Hell yes.  And then I remember to breathe.  Determined to live and love fully.

Back at ya Voyageur, ya double-dipper :)