Grief, Flying and the Flu
I remember the first time flying and the flight attendant said to put on my oxygen mask first before helping someone else out. Sounded incredibly counterintuitive, but I cannot help out someone else unless I am breathing. A life lesson I am constantly learning.
Voyageur and I check in almost daily and sometimes a couple of times a day to see how the other is doing, update about Mom, and just vent. I have to say that nothing prepares you for Alzheimer's. Nothing. To witness a loved one struggle to crochet a scarf (when at one time was able to make beautiful afghans, scarves, hats), have difficulty carrying on a complex conversation and who no longer is able to make their scrumptious lasagna, it's heartbreaking.
I've written before about how I deal with the rollercoaster ride of emotion and how for me it's important to talk with my sister, but in the end this shit is sad and if grief isn't given space, it finds space. When grieving the death of a person, there is a time when life seems suspended and everything is surreal. I have found that to be so true now. And I have found the teaching of 'riding the horse in the direction it's going' to be a gift.
I am unable to control the trajectory of Mom's dementia, how quickly we get home health care, and sometimes more often than not, my own emotions. I am learning that sadness and grief are great teachers and healers. Of course what's happening with Mom is sad, but that's life. Just as great joy and celebrations are life.
I started writing this post a couple of days ago and then had to set it aside because the flu overtook my body. The type of flu when every time you stand, you need to sit, actually lay down. A complete sentence does not get formulated, let alone uttered. All you want is sleep. I had no choice but to listen to my body. It was also telling me to spend some time in grief.
It's ok to be sad. To grieve. And then the time comes to wipe away the tears and talk on the phone to the demented lady. And listen. I can tell in Mom's voice she knows I'm scared and having some challenging times. She has made me some blanket thing and it's in the mail. Voyageur left me a sweet voicemail saying I may be inclined to cry - she said if I do don't cry about the way it looks, cry about the fact Mom loves me and wants me to be happy.
This morning talking with Mom, she said every now and then you need to take medicine - but only when it tastes good :) Grieving doesn't taste good, but it's the stuff on the other side that does.
Yo Voyageur, put the pen to the page girlfriend!
Voyageur and I check in almost daily and sometimes a couple of times a day to see how the other is doing, update about Mom, and just vent. I have to say that nothing prepares you for Alzheimer's. Nothing. To witness a loved one struggle to crochet a scarf (when at one time was able to make beautiful afghans, scarves, hats), have difficulty carrying on a complex conversation and who no longer is able to make their scrumptious lasagna, it's heartbreaking.
I've written before about how I deal with the rollercoaster ride of emotion and how for me it's important to talk with my sister, but in the end this shit is sad and if grief isn't given space, it finds space. When grieving the death of a person, there is a time when life seems suspended and everything is surreal. I have found that to be so true now. And I have found the teaching of 'riding the horse in the direction it's going' to be a gift.
I am unable to control the trajectory of Mom's dementia, how quickly we get home health care, and sometimes more often than not, my own emotions. I am learning that sadness and grief are great teachers and healers. Of course what's happening with Mom is sad, but that's life. Just as great joy and celebrations are life.
I started writing this post a couple of days ago and then had to set it aside because the flu overtook my body. The type of flu when every time you stand, you need to sit, actually lay down. A complete sentence does not get formulated, let alone uttered. All you want is sleep. I had no choice but to listen to my body. It was also telling me to spend some time in grief.
It's ok to be sad. To grieve. And then the time comes to wipe away the tears and talk on the phone to the demented lady. And listen. I can tell in Mom's voice she knows I'm scared and having some challenging times. She has made me some blanket thing and it's in the mail. Voyageur left me a sweet voicemail saying I may be inclined to cry - she said if I do don't cry about the way it looks, cry about the fact Mom loves me and wants me to be happy.
This morning talking with Mom, she said every now and then you need to take medicine - but only when it tastes good :) Grieving doesn't taste good, but it's the stuff on the other side that does.
Yo Voyageur, put the pen to the page girlfriend!