Form vs. Content
Recently I've been saying how much I miss my mom. I miss who she was to me, for me. The pragmatic thinker who would remind me of the practicality of life.
And then I looked at my other relationships. They have all changed with time. My relationship with Voyageur has changed dramatically over the last five years. One of my friends who I barely see and we watch each others' lives unfold over Facebook is a dear close friend, whom I know if I needed something she would be there in a heartbeat (and has been), no questions asked.
So why do I want my relationship with my mom to stay the same? Change is the only constant - I say it all the time. I realized in my missing her, I am missing what I have with her now.
But if all I'm doing is missing her, I'm not able to cherish and relish the moments I have with her. If all I'm doing is being sad, I miss the moments of happy with her.
Again and again I am brought back to vulnerability, the importance of being sad and grieving so I can feel the joy, treasure the moments I have with her. Today's Western culture, along with some of the new spiritual thought, tell us not to be sad. Trust me, dementia will take you to the depths of sadness, anger, frustration. But if you don't go there, you will never experience the joy, the laughter and the happy.
These past few weeks I've been holding my emotions at bay, thinking I was doing just fine. Well, a couple of weeks ago when I blew up at Voyageur, I realized that is not quite the case. Because we now have Mom in a wonderful, safe place, my work of doing research is no longer needed. All that is needed now is for me to be a daughter to my mom. To call and talk with her, laugh with her, tell her I love her.
Some of the hardest stuff, as the disease has impacted what I call the wherewithall to talk. She wants to talk on the phone, but doesn't have much to say, or knows how to say it. A bizarre awkward silence that I now always have to fill. And normally it's hard to get me to stop talking. But now....
So I think of the questions she would ask me. What would she want to know. I tell her not just about the weather, but about the trees, the flowers, the smells. I tell her I saw deer, and condor on a hike. I tell her what I'm making for dinner and what spices and herbs I'm using. I tell her about my cats and how silly they are.
A minister once said focus on the content, not form. That confused me for days, weeks. Now I know. Voyageur recently got a smart phone, so when she visits Mom, we are able to have some video calls together - which are still awkward, but I get to see Mom and she sees me.
Mom is and always will be my mom. She may no longer live in her home of 37 years, nor look the way she used to, nor have the spring in her step. None of that matters. She chose to have her family, raise us, teach us, love us, have fun with us. It's my job to be there, to love her, to remind her she is home.
Back at ya Voyageur :)
And then I looked at my other relationships. They have all changed with time. My relationship with Voyageur has changed dramatically over the last five years. One of my friends who I barely see and we watch each others' lives unfold over Facebook is a dear close friend, whom I know if I needed something she would be there in a heartbeat (and has been), no questions asked.
So why do I want my relationship with my mom to stay the same? Change is the only constant - I say it all the time. I realized in my missing her, I am missing what I have with her now.
But if all I'm doing is missing her, I'm not able to cherish and relish the moments I have with her. If all I'm doing is being sad, I miss the moments of happy with her.
Again and again I am brought back to vulnerability, the importance of being sad and grieving so I can feel the joy, treasure the moments I have with her. Today's Western culture, along with some of the new spiritual thought, tell us not to be sad. Trust me, dementia will take you to the depths of sadness, anger, frustration. But if you don't go there, you will never experience the joy, the laughter and the happy.
These past few weeks I've been holding my emotions at bay, thinking I was doing just fine. Well, a couple of weeks ago when I blew up at Voyageur, I realized that is not quite the case. Because we now have Mom in a wonderful, safe place, my work of doing research is no longer needed. All that is needed now is for me to be a daughter to my mom. To call and talk with her, laugh with her, tell her I love her.
Some of the hardest stuff, as the disease has impacted what I call the wherewithall to talk. She wants to talk on the phone, but doesn't have much to say, or knows how to say it. A bizarre awkward silence that I now always have to fill. And normally it's hard to get me to stop talking. But now....
So I think of the questions she would ask me. What would she want to know. I tell her not just about the weather, but about the trees, the flowers, the smells. I tell her I saw deer, and condor on a hike. I tell her what I'm making for dinner and what spices and herbs I'm using. I tell her about my cats and how silly they are.
A minister once said focus on the content, not form. That confused me for days, weeks. Now I know. Voyageur recently got a smart phone, so when she visits Mom, we are able to have some video calls together - which are still awkward, but I get to see Mom and she sees me.
Mom is and always will be my mom. She may no longer live in her home of 37 years, nor look the way she used to, nor have the spring in her step. None of that matters. She chose to have her family, raise us, teach us, love us, have fun with us. It's my job to be there, to love her, to remind her she is home.
Back at ya Voyageur :)