Loving Mom Is Not Enough
Part III
In the past two weeks since “Mom” decided to retain the original aid to care for her husband, “Dad” declined severely. Mom was overwhelmed by all that transpired. Dad had become very difficult. He was angry about everything. He was moaning when alone. Her daughter recognized that Dad was close to the end and wanted Mom to bring in hospice caregivers to assist. Mom discussed it with me. She wanted to hold on to their privacy, and to the hope that the end was not near, as long as possible. She had her trusted aid after all which I shared with you in Chapters 1 and II. But now, even contemplating the word “hospice” was difficult. A marriage of almost 70 years was coming to its end. How does one explain to your adult children that you are not ready to give-in or give-up? She said “not yet!”
A day later, while attending a ladies-only birthday lunch for a dear friend who had recently turned 80, I received the call that Dad had died just hours before. The shock of this news, even after such a lengthy journey, was hard to process. The details of his death, like those of others, really are too private to discuss (and each passing is unique) but his communications towards the end are important to share.
Even with serious dementia, and physical issues deteriorating, there were times when Dad was quite clear-thinking. He understood how difficult this experience was for Mom who rarely left his side. He explained that he was ready to go and asked her if she would be angry with him for doing so. She rationally responded that she understood. Her heart was aching when she said those words. Dad asked her for extra kisses. He told her that he loved her every day, and many more times toward the end.
Dad’s funeral was yesterday. Mom was exhausted and all that I could do was hug her and hold her hand throughout it all. There are times when words really are quite meaningless. Three of their four children were in the country when Dad passed, and as is Jewish tradition, the funeral was just hours later, that same afternoon. The tears, the pain, the love, flooded the room as they each spoke about their relationship with their father.
Reflecting on the Chapters I and II that I wrote about this family’s good intentions and their misguided deleterious effects on their mother, I want to share a bit of philosophy with you, my reader. Of course, the family had wanted what was best for their father. They believed that their father was at risk under the care of the aid who had clearly acted irresponsibly on his day off. Still, Mom knew what was best for both her and Dad in these final weeks. She stood her ground, and when the very difficult last days arrived, she had the aid whom she trusted, by her side through all of the difficult physical and emotional challenges. Mom knew Dad was getting the best care possible, and she will have that knowledge always.
In the final months of caring for Dad, I heard more than once from Mom that she no longer recognized herself. She felt she had ceased to be a “person,” relegating every moment of her life to her husband’s behavior and needs. Of course, I understood. Only someone who has been through this journey can do so fully. Still, I have tried to share these intimate feelings with you in previous chapters, as clearly as I could. (thedementiadiary.com; “My own Guantanamo Bay” and “Where did I lose me?” are among those addressing these issues and can be easily found in the index.)
Mom’s journey now will transition. She will sit shiva for one week, as is Jewish tradition – to receive friends and family who want to share their love, respect, and memories of Dad. Then she will slowly but surely begin the journey back to finding herself. This is truly when her children, grandchildren, and her friends can be essential in her life. Each of us, each of them, will be required so that Mom can find joy and meaning in the days and years she has ahead. She cannot return to whom she was before Dad became ill. These experiences are not simply over nor forgotten. They enter the cells of our being. Still, with friendship, love and support, she will move forward, to once again enjoy the brilliant sun of a crisp morning, and delight in hearing the birds chirping outside her window. Now it is her turn to treasure the present, which we have all been given.
