Fighting Off Sadness

I'm not going to lie to you; I am fighting off the weepies this morning, thinking about Mom's suffering.

This is, by far, the saddest thing I've ever had to witness, personally. Watching my beautiful Mom fall deeper and further. It's agony.

And Dad.. what must he be feeling? A huge sense of loss. Depression at losing his so vibrant and alive wife of forty seven years. Anger. Frustration. Physical and mental exhaustion.  It's all there.

I went over there yesterday after the second phone call, confirming what Dad and I were not surprised would happen.. Mom canceling the ladies dinner at the restaurant. He and I were very supportive with her about her decision, and tried our best to let her know it was alright. Mom was calmer once she proclaimed her decision, but she also spent a great deal of the day napping.

And when I went over a second time, late in the afternoon, with the December darkness closing in on her like a blanket, her restless mind controlling her body like a robot.. sit down, stand up, sit down, stand up, walk somewhere, walk back, sit down in the chair, get up, walk to the couch, lie down, get up.. Dad and I acting as anchors in our chairs, gently speaking with her and riding her waves.

Dad brought up in that time that he wanted us to attend an Alzheimer care givers luncheon and discussion being held at the community center in the next town over, next Wednesday at eleven-thirty in the morning. Mom reacted surprisingly positive about the idea, remembering back, I suppose, to the days she tirelessly worked with the Council On Aging. She assumed it would be a holiday party, and Dad and I did not say much to correct that. As long as we can get her to attend with us, for it is open to both care givers and those suffering with AD. If all goes well, she will have her bath in the morning, then we could drive down to the luncheon and discussion. Hopefully, she won't be too tired and refuse to go.

Day time is always a lot better than night time.

We had a light blanket of snow last night, but today the temp is fairly mild and a light haze of sun.

Last night, Dad suggested that he and Mom switch sides of their bed. He's hoping to get better sleep. I am curious to go over and see if that helped.

More than once, Mom has said to me, when obviously distressed or uncomfortable, "I can't help it, it's the symptoms." At least she's acknowledging it, but it still doesn't take away the symptoms and the agony. I told her yesterday we are all empathetic to her suffering, and we can't imagine how awful it must feel. I also told her it is affecting us, too. Then she says she feels guilty. And we reply that it's not her fault.

And around and around we go, spiraling down. Somewhere, in the middle of that spiral, is a thin line of white light, to which we hold on to with all of our strength and will. But it is so slippery, and I hope we won't ever lose our grip.

If you haven't already, look at this tour of the brain with AD. This is what is happening with my Mom, and millions of other people, as well.