Tuesday, February 3, 2026

Tuesday, February 3, 2026 -- Mattie died 831 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in January of 2002. It took me months to clear out this space, as my desk used to be where the crib was and I had books and things all over the place. Slowly but surely, things got organized, filed, thrown out or donated, and my parents and I purchased the crib, baby furniture and linens. Ironically to this day, Mattie's bureau is in my bedroom and I use it for my things. Notice I put up a Hey Diddle Diddle border by the crib area, because I always loved black and white cows. But what strikes me now about this is..... there is a moon in this nursery rhyme. Who knew this would eventually be Mattie's symbol in preschool and a name that we still use today..... our MATTIE MOON! 

Quote of the day: Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone. ~ J. Krishnamurti

I woke up later than usual today because I am struggling with a head cold. Though I thought it was going to be a more even paced day, it wasn't! I started the morning by changing the linens on my own bed. I am so busy keeping up with my parents' bed linens, which is a large chore, that I do not change my sheets as often as I used to. This morning, I had just about enough, and decided.... no I am taking the time to do this for myself! Especially with a head cold! Indie spends so much time on my bed, by my pillows, that I am breathing in fur! But as I have learned no good deeds go unpunished. 

Throughout the morning, I checked on my dad twice in bed. In fact, one time I got him up to reposition him, so his back wouldn't ache. By the time I got myself showered, dressed, made breakfast, cleaned out the litter box, and cleaned up the first floor, I must have gotten back upstairs to my dad at 10:30am. So later than usual. As I went into his room, I saw the disaster awaiting me. It wasn't as bad as when he had Norovirus last week, but it was bad enough. No matter how well I protect the bed, he soils all the linens, it lands up all over the bed rail, the bed frame, and the box spring. Truly I wanted to cry over seeing this, because it took me a week to clean, disinfect, and air out their bedroom while my dad was in the hospital. The only advantage to today, was I knew exactly what I had to do to address this mess! But I wasn't happy, as that set me up to strip their entire bed (AGAIN!), and do five loads of laundry. Not to mention hours of cleaning and I got the fans out and had them running all day! Of course while I am doing this, my dad is clueless. He has NO understanding for what just happened, the amount of effort it takes to clean him and everything around him, and most definitely has no memory of last week much less today. 

Seeing the drastic changes in my dad are sobering. Let me put some things into context for you. When we go out to lunch with my parents, I tend to do activities with my dad. Otherwise, he sleeps at the table, my mom is glued to her phone, and it leaves me in silence. 

Yesterday, I tried to do this 'find the object' activity with my dad. Even coaching him through it, was close to impossible. He couldn't remember what the purpose of the activity was and truly he was lost in his own mind. This is a significant change from just a few months ago, where he used to like doing such activities. 

Two days ago, I tried to do this activity with my dad, which was to look at both pictures and find the differences between the two of them. You would have thought I was asking him to discover the cure for cancer. It was that difficult to think through the process and come up with some observations. I even color coded some objects to help him, but that accomplished nothing. 

Overall, another sad day in a sea of sad years. There are great differences between seeing Mattie die and watching my dad's decline. I know the outcome with eventually be the same, but the journey is different. Nonetheless, it is so unfortunate that in all my caregiving experiences, the patient never gets better. Instead, I am learning the painful art form of helping someone live with as much dignity and  as in little pain as possible before their death.