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I’m Not Gonna Miss You
She’s probably going to forget my name even though she gave it to me. She will one day not recognize my daughter, her only granddaughter, even though she looks just like her. One day, I am going to sit in front of her and weep because the woman I call “Mom” no longer exists. I can prepare myself as much as I want, but I will never be ready for that day. My mother has Dementia and will one day probably develop Alzheimer’s. As it stands, we have good weeks and bad weeks. One day the bad weeks will outweigh the good weeks, so what do we do in the meantime?
We cherish the time that we have and appreciate the moments when she is herself and the moments when she isn’t. I will miss her, but in this beautiful post by Lynne, she puts things into perspective from my mother’s point of view. ~Mandi
Yesterday, a friend sent me a link to Glen Campbell’s final music video with the comment that she found the song comforting. I do too, but…click the link, I’ll wait.
I have watched this video and listened intently to the words, oh, probably a dozen times since. I am alternately heart broken and comforted, watching through streaming tears, hoping against hope that what he says is true.
It’s not gonna hurt me when you cry
I’m never gonna know what you go through
All the things I say or do
All the hurt and all the pain
One thing selfishly remains
I’m not gonna miss you
I’m not gonna miss you
“I’m Not Gonna Miss You” by Glen Campbell – (C) 2014 Big Machine Records, LLC
Glen was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in 2011 and recorded this song, his final performance, in January 2013. It is an incredible and touching tribute to his wife and family, and a brave step to shine a light on a disease that is poised to become an epidemic as the huge population of baby boomers ages. In April he was admitted to a specialized facility for the final stage of Alzheimer’s.
As many of you know, my mom was diagnosed in 2012, and due to her decline, we recently had to move her from Assisted Living to a specialized Memory Care unit as well. Though she still knows me, and most of the time she knows that I am her daughter, I am not sure she remembers my name.
With her decline, I am trying to change my behavior to meet her where she is, rather than try to bring her back to my world. I tell her my name when I see her now. I use the names of my sister, my nephew, and my husband whenever I refer to them. I remind her that my father/her husband passed away, how many siblings I have, how many grandchildren she has, or that her first language was German. She usually replies “Oh, I didn’t know that”.
My mother and I had a difficult relationship for most of my life, and really didn’t spend any significant time together as adults until she was diagnosed and I moved her to be near me almost two years ago. Growing up, I was a daddy’s girl, but my father passed away when I was just 22. I was a tomboy, and loved horses, then cars, and then motorcycles. I didn’t care much about fashion, or makeup, or shopping, which were common interests for my mom and sister, and they were always both much slimmer and more fashionable than me. I compared myself to them, and never developed a healthy body image, nor had any help in cultivating one. In the last few years, with a focus on exercise, yoga, meditation and an overhaul of my eating habits, I have finally come in to my own. I feel good in my own skin. Yesterday, in this stage of Mom’s Alzheimer’s, she gave me a gift she couldn’t give me growing up.
We were at her dentist, waiting for the hygienist. I went to the counter to check in, and then returned to sit next to her in the waiting area. She started to speak; “You have a nice…” and could not find the words to finish her thought. She made the hourglass figure with her hands. I said “figure?” And she said “yes, you look good!” I struggled to keep from crying in the waiting room. I have cried over and over since, reliving that moment, that genuine gift, that I never could have expected, knowing the moments that she can express herself will grow farther and farther between.
I know that it’s only going to get worse. More than anything, being with Mom reminds me that we must live for the NOW, moment by moment. We have to enjoy them while we can. My only comfort is to think that as she declines, it will become less and less painful for her.
She’s not gonna miss me.
My name is Lynne and I am interested in motorcycle touring, travel, reading, writing, music, nature and enjoying life. I am working to reinvent my future, while helping to care for my mother who is struggling with dementia, and thus have the need to express feelings about so many things. Lately, I feel I am masquerading as a grown up with a corporate job and many responsibilities, while I would rather be off on some adventure. I am experimenting to find my voice, both literally and figuratively. I write about motorcycle wanderings, life changes, my mother’s dementia, and other random subjects. Gradually, I hope to find other outlets for publishing my work.
Lynne, my heart breaks for you. I heard this Glen Campbell song not long ago and I cried all the way through it. It is one of my own greatest fears, forgetting my children, my life. For some reason I can’t think about this happening with my own mother. Perhaps because it is so difficult to imagine and the pain is too great. Just reading this I can tell how much this affects you, hurts your heart but I also see strength in the way you care for your mom, speak to her, tell her stories. Your courage is extraordinary. This story will stick with me and I will certainly keep you in my thoughts and prayers. I wish you peace, Lynne. Truly.
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❤ Thank you so much, Sandy. It has been incredibly difficult, from first becoming aware of her symptoms, to caring for her now as if she were a child. I appreciate your kind words, and believe me, my greatest fear is that I will follow in her footsteps. The silver lining is that I am determined to live life to the fullest while I can.
I am so humbled to have this post shared here, in such amazing company. Thank you!
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Oh my goodness. I’m in tears. This is one that I must share. Thank you so much for including the Glen Campbell song. What a touching way to start the day.
I’m a nurse, and have worked with Alzheimers frequently. I know first hand how hard it can be on family members. It’s a terrible disease, and I’ll pray for you and your family through it.
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Thank you so much, Katie. All I can say is that there is a special place in Heaven (or the afterlife of your choice) for Alzheimer’s caregivers, so thank YOU. I cannot imagine the day to day trials of the kind professionals that do this work. And thank you for your prayers.
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This is so beautifully written, but it just breaks my heart.
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Thank you for your kind comments, Samara. I am awed by you amazing ladies.
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We’re only as amazing as the submissions we get to share. Thank you so much for trusting us with this tender, bittersweet story.
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Just as touching and beautiful as the first time I read it. I’m beyond grateful you chose to share this here. You’re amazing, Roby. xoxo
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Beth, I can’t thank you enough. I am so honored to have it shared here! ❤
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I feel the pain of this post so deeply for some very personal reasons I can’t talk about. But I feel the strength and hope as well. Thank you.
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I wish you all the strength and hope you need, and then some. Thank you for reading and commenting.
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No… thank you…
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Reblogged this on Kitt O'Malley and commented:
This post by Lynne of curvyroads.info hits close to home, as my father, like her mother, has dementia. For more information about dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, visit alz.org.
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Kitt, thank you for reblogging, and I wish you comfort and patience as you deal with your Father’s struggle with this horrible disease. XXOOXX
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Thank you. I wish you and Mandi the same with yours.
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Love you, Lynne. xoxo
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Nancy, your love and support mean so much! ❤
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Thank you, Lynne and Mandy. My father has dementia, so I’ve reblogged this piece and am sharing it widely. Thank you. Bless you.
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Kitt, I hate that you’re a member of this club. I wonder if it’s true, if it’s more difficult for us than for them. I really hope it is.
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Kitt and Mandi, my heart breaks for you both. We can only hope that they are not suffering, and don’t perceive the awfulness like we do. XXOO
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I think it is pretty difficult for my father, for he knows he is losing his mind, his memory, his intelligence, his ability to solve problems. Painful for all involved.
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Kitt, I am so sorry. My mom went through that sense of panic at the loss in the early stages too, but I believe that now she is past that, and I hope, more at ease. I hope for peace for your Dad, and you.
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Thank you. My father is now aware that he is losing his memory, that he has dementia which is progressively getting worse.
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Brave post, and well written. Thank you for tackling this subject. Thank you for sharing with us so we can know we aren’t alone in our similar struggles, and so we can remember those from our fading past.
Alzheimer’s has struck my family twice during my (still relatively) young life. The first I was a child, but I can still remember the pain it caused my father as his mom forgot who he was and slowly slipped away. The second time I was in college and an aunt (mercifully) went quickly so there was no prolonged period of forgetfulness, struggle, and pain.
I hope you can continue to enjoy the good moments. I hope they continue to outnumber the bad for a long time.
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Matticus, the beauty of this forum is that it really does allow us to know we are not alone in dealing with a loved one with dementia, or any number of other ills. The really sad part about dementia is that this disease is pervasive and growing in numbers that will be staggering as the baby boomers continue to be affected. I don’t think that it is yet recognized as the epidemic it will become.
I am so sorry that you were impacted so young, that must have been so, so frightening to experience as a child. I thank you for your comment, and I will indeed enjoy the happy times as long as I possibly can.
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Lynne, that song just wrecked me.
I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’ve read this post in drafts but…it still gets to me every time. I’m scared because I think I might lose my mum this way, in the end. Both my grandmothers have been lost to Alzheimer’s (one is still alive, but mostly a shell, yaknow?) and…I pretty much think I’m gonna end up with it myself.
Which actually gives me a couple of Silver Linings – my husband has a chronic endocrine disorder and is likely to die long before me, and as a side-effect of that, we can’t have children. So I will just forget and fade away, and no-one will be put through the hell-on-earth of losing someone so special to them.
I will say this, though:
On the night my grandma died, she seemed to have stopped breathing, and my Dad thought she’d passed away, but she woke up and looked at my Dad – RIGHT AT HIM – she was BACK IN HERSELF – and she told him “Oh, the singing’s lovely, but I’m not ready yet.” then she turned over and went back to sleep. She was ‘gone’ again after that, and later, when she really did die, it was with a look of happy surprise on her face.
So…who knows, right?
But losing people before they die is awful-awful, and I’m so sorry you’re going through it, and so pleased you shared such a poignant piece. Thank you for that.
(Mandi, your intro…ack…amazing and also completely wrenching ❤ )
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Thank you, Lizzi. I just reread this post and listened to the song (for the first time because I couldn’t make myself listen any of the other times I’ve read it), and I’m a total mess. I had a wonderful week with my mother, and she was mostly herself. I’m thankful for that.
The story of your grandmother….it’s very similar to mine. My grandmother went through the same decline and before she died, she too said something about the singing. I wonder….you know? I just assumed she heard music in her head. She was the one who made me want to play the piano and was actually in a band until she was in her late 80’s. I just thought that she loved music so much that it was her happy place, but maybe there’s something more to it. Maybe there IS singing. I certainly hope so.
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Everything I have ever been led to believe suggests that there’s singing. And that the story of your grandma’s death corroborates with mine has given me goosebumps and all the hairs are standing up on the back of my neck, and I feel all tingly 😀 what a wonderful hope…
I love that your grandma is the inspiration for you playing piano. That’s so cool that she was in a band 🙂 You have true musical heritage. You do her proud, Squishy 🙂
I’m so, so glad that your week with your mom was mostly okay. Thank goodness for small mercies. And long may it continue. Does she like crossword puzzles?
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Mandi, I am so touched by your lovely introduction, and so very happy that you had a wonderful week with your mother!!! Those are the fond memories you can cherish when the hard times come. It will help, I promise! And we will keep the faith that there IS singing. XXOOXX
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Oh, Mandi. How could I forget to acknowledge your introduction? It was brutiful and gut wrenching. And brave of you to write it.
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Thank you for your kind comments, Lizzi! I am so sorry you lost both grandmothers to Alzheimer’s, especially so for the one who still hangs in there as a shell. I hope against hope that my mother is taken by something before that. I cannot stand the thought of her just existing. Funny that none of my grandparents had Alheimer’s, but watching my mother has me living in fear of the same fate for myself.
I am so pleased that you can point out the silver lining. I love the story of your grandma! I so hope there is singing!!!!
And I totally agree on Mandi’s intro…awesome! I knew that she shared this pain, and I am so honored to have her introduce my post. ❤
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She did it so beautifully 🙂 Have you read the piece of hers, about this? It’s called The Cycle, and it’s utterly fabulous and completely shattering.
Silver linings are important. And I know it sounds awful to say, but I hope something spares you of the torture of just watching your mom fade into nothing. *sigh* It’s so hard.
Apparently if you keep your mind active, you’re less likely to succumb to it. And they’re making advances all the time in medicine to figure out the mechanics of Alzheimer’s and how it works, and how it might be prevented. I guess that’s something to hope for, too.
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Lizzi, I did read Mandi’s The Cycle, and you are right, it was beautiful and heart-wrenching at the same time. I am hopeful that the medical community will make some progress on treatment and prevention; we must think positively!
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Beautiful. I’d heard the song before, even posted about it myself. But I don’t have the personal story that you have. May you have strength you need to help your mom and keep your heart whole.
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Elyse, thank you for the very kind words. I loved the song, because it really gave me hope that my vision of her suffering may not be true. It makes me cry every time I listen to it, but it is also very comforting. I would love to read your post about the song and will look for it this afternoon!
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Lynne,
I forced myself to read this, even though the opening paragraph gave me the shivers and shakes. I may write about fear, but when it comes to my fear of losing my memory and mind, I hide under the covers and don’t want to face it.
It takes a special kind of strength to be able to live with this, and it is my sincere hope that you have the strength, and that you have strong people around you to support you when your strength fails.
Love,
Helena
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Thank you so much, Helena. I honestly don’t think of it as strength, just as caring for my mom now, just as she did when I was a child. The similarities are staggering, to be honest. I am so fortunate to have my rock, my husband, who catches me when I fall. XXOOXX
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I can’t think of anything more difficult. What an important story to share, Lynne. You will be helping so many. That song is beautiful by Glenn Campbell. I didn’t realize he was in the last stages of Alzheimer’s. It’s nice to meet you here at Sister Wives. I love your pen name (Curvy Roads). Hopefully you can take a small adventure in between all the responsibility you’re facing.
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Lisa, I so appreciate your kind words, and it is very nice to meet you here as well! We are working hard to keep the adventures alive, as it makes the day to day so much easier.
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Lynne, I volunteered to introduce you even though we haven’t met until now. Your story hits close to home because it is becoming mine as well. I read your post several times before I could create words, but I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the song, until just now. Through tears, I write this. I really really hope that it’s true. That they’re not gonna miss us. Because I already miss her so much. So much.
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Mandi, well, I didn’t see this and I responded to you a few comments up, between you and Lizzi. 🙂 But I want to say a proper THANK YOU again for the lovely sentiments in your introduction. We actually did interact months ago when you first (I think) posted about your mother and her erratic behavior, so I was especially touched that you did the intro. I really really hope that it’s true too. I think that Glen Campbell did all of us a huge service by trying to explain his perception of descending into the depths of Alzheimer’s, and that it is the closest thing we may ever have to knowing what they go through. It makes me feel better, and I hope it does for you too. XXOOXX
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My grandmother suffered from dementia in her final months. It was tough to watch. My heart goes out to you.
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Oh Scott, I am so sorry that you have been touched by this awful disease as well. Thank you so much for your kind thoughts.
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i am overcome. You are in my thoughts and prayers my dear friend, as is your momma.
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Thank you, Dear Dorcas, for the kind words and prayers. ❤
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When my Mom was suffering with dementia she once found an letter for a magazine subscription addressed to me. She stormed into my room waving the envelope about and demanded that I tell her how long I had known I was her daughter. Of course I responded: since I was born?? She was highly functional and such a happy, lovely person even in the darkness of dementia. But still, knowing how she had a phobia of nursing homes, I often had passing thoughts that it would be a blessing if she passed quickly from something, anything before she forgot everything and everyone. About 6 months after the onset of the moderate dementia, she was diagnosed with cancer and died just two weeks later. I wasn’t ready!!! I thought we’d have a few more years together. No one is ever ready. I still can hear her voice on the long gone answering machine “Hello, Shel? Pick up the phone. It’s ya mutha.”
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Oh Shelley, I love stories like your mom asking how long you had known you were her daughter!! And it is such a blessing when our loved ones are happy even in dementia. My mom is that way, fortunately, but some of the other residents in her memory care unit are very volatile, and it is really disconcerting.
I know I haven’t been through it yet, but I really think it would be a blessing to have a quick passing, for my mom, anyway. It’s hard on those left behind to lose someone suddenly, but it seems to me to be even harder to lose them while they are physically still here. In any case, I am so sorry for your loss, but thank you for sharing your story here!
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I saw a part of a video of Glen lately, where he was in the nursing home, still playing his guitar with flair and style. I didn’t see enough of it to know if he was playing an entire song or even a good chunk of it, but it was obvious his fingers still automatically had the talent.
My mom, who lived to 94, had Alzheimer’s, as did her mom and both her sisters (at earlier ages than Mom). I think she made it longer because, unlike them, she worked (I hate to say it, because it sounds like I am “lessening” the job of full-time housewife/mom) outside the home (went back to work after little baby me started high school), helping balance the daily books at a bank till she was in her late 60s/early 70s, then moving to HR there. She was mad because they let her go when she was 75. I asked her boss years later (because I suspected it) and she told me, sadly, “Oh, Kevin, she was making mistakes.”
Alzheimer’s sucks, though Aricept and the other drugs help some people to lessen or delay some symptoms. You have to live for the fun times, like when my mom thought that some mystery person, who lived in their house before Mom and Dad, had left all these wonderful clothes in her closet. “And they all fit!!” I told her one time, before things got too scrambled, that I had the sweetest mother and the sweetest daughter in the world. She got quiet and I think she understood. I’m glad your mom was able to give you a compliment that meant so much to you. May her last months and years not be too confusing for her and frustrating for you.
You know, it doesn’t matter how old you are; the first time your own mom forgets your birthday and won’t even respond to hints about it, that f***ing SUCKS!
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Kevin, I am so sorry for the enormous impact this awful disease has had on you and your family! No one in Mom’s family had dementia, but then, her father and siblings died young. Her mother lived longer, but we didn’t see her for years before she died since she was in Germany. I guess it is possible she may have been afflicted. Mom actually worked till 82; she was a real estate broker and worked incessantly after my sister went to school. The last few years, I really felt that her employers took advantage of her, asking her to man the office and answer phones, since she really wasn’t able to manage transactions anymore, but it may have been the element that kept her from displaying full symptoms. I suspected there was a problem for several years before she was diagnosed, but she was in denial and wouldn’t even discuss seeing a doctor until she was 86 and I realized she was not safe living alone any longer. She did take Aricept, and a newer drug called Namenda, but there was no real benefit and her doctor and I decided to remove her from both when she became anxious and depressed. Interestingly, she didn’t get noticeably worse without the drugs, but I have heard that they help some people.
You are absolutely right, we have to live for the good times like the closet full of clothes that just fit perfectly!!! That is precious! Mom is occasionally overcome with giggles, and that is my happy time. 🙂
You are right about when she forgets your birthday, or that you are the daughter, not her, those are difficult times. I am making peace with that now, as we are definitely beyond that stage now. May we both find peace. XXOO
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Mom took both of those drugs, and was still being spoon-fed at the end in the nursing home. This was after Dad finally decided to put her in there long after he needed more help with her. It was costing Dad $500/month for those drugs even with insurance and we decided it wasn’t worth it for what little good they seemed to be doing her. The head nurse, Fancy (yes, really, Fancy was her name) told me that Mom might go downhill fast when these drugs were pulled. The first time I visited her after that she seemed really mad at me and I felt like a giant ogre, because they really did “let a little light in” to her confused brain. She died a month later. I don’t know why I’m telling you this; maybe it’s therapy for me or some crap. I suppose it was better in the long run that she didn’t go so much farther downhill, but still. Really, there’s no “winning” with dementia, no right way to do anything; it just sucks all around. I think Aricept and/or Namenda are wonder drugs up to a point, but in the end the dementia wins, whether it’s Alzheimer’s or some other name.
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Kevin, if this post provides you some therapy, or even just an outlet for your pain, then it has been successful. I agree, it is a terrible disease, and the science so far is only a temporary help, if any at all. I am hopeful that they will make progress as the impacts of the disease become more and more prevalent.
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Lynne,
Gorgeously, beautifully, heartbreakingly written.
Thank you for sharing your lovely mother w/ us.
Love from MN.
PS. My grandma had this horrid disease. When she died, I remember telling my dad, “Grandma didn’t just die…She died 2 years ago.”
My heart still aches for the “Essence of who she was.”
Thinking of you. xx
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Thank you so much for the kind words and thoughts! I had this horrifying thought a few months ago when I was feeling sad about my Father passing away so many years ago (1982) and realized that, essentially, I had already lost my mom too. But she’s still here, so I enjoy the good times, and flashes of who she was, when I can.
XXOO Lynne
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Lynne,
You writing is beautiful and your mom is so lucky to have you on her team! We lost Eddie’s dad to this terrible disease in his early 60’s. I always felt like I was cheated because both my parents died quickly from stokes 6 months apart. I didn’t get to say goodbye or really prepare, if that’s really even possible. But watching Eddie’s dad and friend’s parents go through this, I sometimes think maybe I and my parents were the lucky ones as they didn’t really suffer. It sounds like you’re doing a great job caring for her. Treasure this time as best you can because once they’re gone you don’t ever get that chance again. I’ll be keeping you in my prayers! Love you!
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Patty, thank you for your kind words. I had no idea that Eddie’s Dad had Alzheimer’s, and I am so sorry that you lost both parents so quickly and so close together. I don’t think you can really prepare, even if you know it’s coming, honestly. And I do think you are on to something with being lucky to go quickly. I hope against hope that Mom doesn’t suffer as much as those watching her decline, but there are days when I can sense she is just not feeling good, even though she can’t really tell me, and it hurts. I try to remember the funny and warm things, and hope that it doesn’t get any worse for her. I truly appreciate your prayers, and I love you too! xxooxx
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It’s hard for me to imagine anything more heartbreaking than losing touch with reality and the memories of loved ones. I honestly don’t know if having dementia or watching someone with dementia slip away would be worse. Your post, and Glen Campbell’s song, are reminders that the spirit of love will always continue, and that what is in our hearts is ultimately more important than what’s in our minds. I must confess, sometimes when I’m writing and can’t find the right word, I think “oh crap…” and then remember I don’t have a really broad vocabulary anyway, so I’m ok 😉
Thank you for sharing your heart, Lynne.
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Ned, I so appreciate your kind and funny way of putting things! You can always bring a smile, even over a very tough subject. I am hopeful that watching someone with dementia is worse than the actual experience of having it, at least once you have progressed past the initial recognition that your memory and function is failing, which has got to be terrifying. We may never know. And I have those “oh crap…” moments all the time! 🙂 Thank you for your wonderful comment. XXOOXX
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I am low, I don’t want to write, I don’t want to read, but…this! This is what I love about you Roby, your heart is so much bigger than your writing and your writing does such tender, unpretentious justice to a truly terrible condition. Take care of you as well, so often the carer’s needs for love and understanding and compassion go unnoticed…but then, hubby, right? He’s a good man. You’re an inspiring couple. Thank you for your heart here. Love Red
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Awe, Red, you made me tear up again! I am sorry the dog is back; I know how that is, and it makes me appreciate your visit even more. Thank you for the kind words, and for showing up. As you know, writing helps with some things, and I am so lucky to be so well cared for by the hubby when I need it, it truly makes some the bad or sad days bearable. Hugs to you and I hope things are looking up soon. ❤
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What a beautiful post. So touching.
There is something about when the roles reverse, when we become the grown-ups and our parents need our care, that always gets me. It’s the loss of getting to be the one taken care of, I think. No matter when it happens, it seems it happens too soon. As I grow older I begin to think that it’s also the knowledge that we’re likely headed there in some way as well.
I am so sorry for your struggles, but so appreciative of the carefully plucked words you’ve gathered here to share. Thank you.
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Thank you for the lovely comment! You are absolutely right about the role reversal. In addition to the horror of watching your parent lose their memory and basic functions, there is also the sense of being alone, having lost that parent, even though physically they are still there. And I fear the same fate, no question about it. I just have to try to put that out of my mind, or it would drive me crazy.
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Be there for her… My heartfelt prayers are with you.
Stay strong.
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Thank you for the comment, and the prayers.
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Beautifully done, love this Glen Campbell song. The first time I heard it I wept. My beloved father passed in 2010 having fought Alzheimer for several years, medication worked for a while but finally he succumbed.
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Thank you, Valentine, and I am so sorry for your loss! We have to believe he is resting in peace now.
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Oh, I know he is. I am good with it all. My daddy was a brilliant man, his decline was terrible to watch. The loss of my step mother, the love of his wife ten months prior was devastating. At her grave we stood together, tears streaming holding hands. He squeezed my hand and said, “I am done”. I squeezed back and could only say, “Okay Daddy, okay.” He stopped all his medications, I was his primary caregiver though other siblings helped.
It was fine, it was just fine. We all understood.
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I’m really sorry. My grandmother does not have Alzheimer’s, but she does suffer from short-term memory loss, so we all answer questions the answers to which we have given her 5 minutes ago, several times over.
It’s distressing because of the contrast of how she used to be; so very proud and independent, and how she is now.
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Thank you Roshni, and I agree, it is so sad to see the decline in our loved ones!
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This was very touching. My grandmother has Alzz and my mother us having a hard time adjusting as she gets worse. She still has her mind a lot of the time, but each week it seems one little thing gets worse. Doc won’t put her in a facility yet, and she refuses. We’re terrified what she could do while at home alone. THANK you for this post.
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Thank you for the comment, and I am so sorry you are going through this as well. I hope that you and your mother can keep each other sane, and your grandmother safe, until she does go into a facility. Seriously, it would be the best thing that you could do for her, to have people who are trained to do so, caring for her.
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