Another Face of Grief

 

Having a lovely meat pie in Placerville

I am writing this blog post to explain why I posted my alarming note on Facebook a few days ago.  I’ve since removed it.  But I realize many of my friends and family were alarmed, and I would like to publicly apologize for any distress it caused.  I would also like to express my sincere appreciation and love for all those who reached out in support and concern.

It’s been a very challenging year for me, and for many close to me.  A year of transitions both planned, and unforeseen.  I have mostly recovered form the trauma of my daughter’s suicide 5 months ago.  Well, at least I have reconciled myself with it.  But, a few days ago, I really lost it, once more. 

Our mother has been suffering increasingly from dementia for a few years.  It was brought on by several small strokes.  In the past month it became glaringly apparent she could no longer live in her place.  My sister lives next door, but the level of supervision became such that she and I had to split our time to make sure Mom was not left alone.  After much searching my sister and I agreed on a memory care facility for Mom to move to.  Our mother was likely the first woman in LA Harbor to earn a USCG 100 ton Ocean Operators license.  She owned and operated the vessel: Neptune II.  Over the course of 30+ years she scattered thousands of human cremains at sea off San Pedro.  She was also an avid hiker, going out nearly every Wednesday with a local hiking club.  She’s covered more miles and trails in the local mountains that I ever will.  She managed the family finances ever since marrying my father in ‘50’s.  I tell you this because it illustrates how independent and in control she has always been.  So, to watch her slowly transition, from a well known and loved local entrepreneur, to a state approaching childhood has been difficult, well, heartbreaking. 

Last week I drove Mom up to Auburn, CA to visit her sister and to look at a property.  She has had it in her mind lately that she was going to purchase the old Wolf Post Office owned by a childhood friend.  She recalls visiting her friend and his mother at some point, long after leaving Wolf the day after high school graduation.  In her mind that visit was 2 or 3 years ago.  I am pretty sure it was more than 30 years, possibly even 50.  Such is one of the manifestations of dementia, time becomes largely meaningless.  I had done some research and realized the old Post Office building had been moved many years ago.  My sister phoned our uncle, and learned Mon’s old friend had passed away about 8 months ago.  I knew though, the only way to break Mom of this fantasy, was to take her there and show her the area.  If I didn’t, she would continue to look into packing up the house for a move that was never going to happen.  We decided that while I was up North, my sister and my girlfriend would move some of Mom’s furniture into a room at the memory care facility we had chosen.  It would then fall to me to come up with a story about why she was moving into a new place instead to returning to her house.

I decided to tell her the house needed major repairs (more true than I realized) and that we had booked her a room at a resort while the work was being accomplished.  I waited, and only told her this on the last day of our journey.  When I brought it up, she was initially fine with the idea.  Mind you I don’t know how much of it she really processed.  Also, that same day, I heard from the mortuary, telling me the final death certificates were available for my daughter.  Mom and I arrived at the “resort” and began checking in.  She was a bit confused why the room furnishings looked so familiar.  I explained that we had brought some of her furniture, needlework and photos to make her feel more at home.  She was nervous and somewhat confused, but going along with the story.  Another aspect of dementia is that the degradation of mental capacity is not even, or uniform.  People can have sudden moments of apparent lucidity.  I took her to look over the facility.  Looking at the courtyard she commented “this is a very nice hospital”.  I assured her it was not a hospital as people were not hooked up to IV’s and monitors and she acknowledged “oh, that’s right”.  After an hour and a half, I was preparing to leave.  She suddenly looked panicked and frightened.  She thought I’d be staying with her.  I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and she asked if I’d be back the next day, I assured her I would. 

As I walked through the doors my eyes were already filled with tears.  When I got to the car, I completely broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.  I felt that I had just lied to get my mother to go into this place, that she knew I was lying, but was going along with it.  And worst, that she was terrified and I had abandoned her.  I couldn’t just sit there in the parking lot sobbing, so drove a few miles to a trailhead where I was off the road.  I spent the next two hours unconsolably sobbing and crying in anguish.  It was just too much for me, the one last straw.  Though I rarely post publicly about my emotional state, I did then.  Though I didn’t want anyone to see me.  And I didn’t want anyone to try and console me.  I felt like I had to scream out in pain to everyone.  It was horrible.  After posting I shut off my phone.  An hour or so later I realized I should add to the post, as it was no doubt causing alarm.  Eventually I reached out to my sister, who had been trying repeatedly to reach me.  She and my girlfriend had been worried that I was going to harm myself.  They drove out to get me as I’d told them I could not drive.

That was the second day this year I felt grief so intense I thought would destroy me.  I am still a bit shaken.  I ate an anti-depressant yesterday to help me function. 

Placing our mother into memory care was the right thing to do.  But just because something is right, and an easy intellectual decision, does not make it an easy emotional decision.  This was one of the most difficult things I’ve done.

Again, I thank all of you who reached out.  I forget how many people genuinely care about me.  It’s been a challenging year so far.