Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2005. This was Mattie's third summer vacation at the beach. By that time, it was old hat to him. He adjusted to the sound of the ocean and learned to appreciate it as well as the beautiful sand. Each evening we would come out to look for dolphins and other things in the water. Peter captured that special moment in time.
Quote of the day: Your memory is the glue that binds your life together; everything you are today is because of your amazing memory. You are a data collecting being, and your memory is where your life is lived. ~ Kevin Horsley
If memory is where you live your life, as this quote suggests, then what happens to people with dementia? How can memory then serve as "the glue that binds your life together?" The answer is you can't! I am sure losing one's memory is scary to the person with dementia, but I assure you there are a whole host of feelings for the family caregiver. Yesterday we showed my dad photos of places/houses he has lived. Do you know he remembered NONE of it! NOTHING. As if none of these things ever happen. Not only does my dad have issues with short term memory, he also has little to no long term memory. He is like a blank slate. It is truly a very sad commentary.
My dad has never been a big conversationalist, even pre-dementia. He was the quiet one in his marriage, the one who as he said....."gained more by listening!" Given his social history, it is easy to assume that he has nothing to say, doesn't want to participate in the conversation, and so forth. But what I notice now is he just doesn't want to hear the noise. Conversation is noise in his mind and even though friends call him now, he doesn't want to talk with them. Instead, my mom and I do the talking. This desire to disengage brings me pause. At first I interpreted it the same way I did for Mattie. Noise and conversation brought great anxiety and stress to Mattie. Which is why over time we rarely had people visit us, because it troubled Mattie and he did not like my attention diverted from him.
With my dad I don't view this turning away from conversation the same way. For my dad, he lives within his very confused mind. He is happier in this confusion than having to use his brain to connect with others. For Mattie, turning away from conversation was a choice. For my dad, I think his disease is turning him away from conversation without his permission. His brain shuts down and when this happens, he can't process or hear what is around him. Even at times when I have to raise my voice to capture his attention, he will start screaming at me. He will aggressively tell me that I am always yelling at him and then proceeds to look like a toddler having a tantrum.
After my dad went to his memory care center this morning, my goal was to do Foundation work. Forget it. My mom needed help with credit card payments, issues with insurance and so forth. It took hours of my time. I took her out to lunch and there we had a conversation about how she needs a lot of support and what transpired this morning prevented me for getting anything done. In addition to discussing this, we also talked about driving. My mom now fully accepts that she can no longer drive. I did not make that decision for her, she did. It is the wise decision and she is beginning to understand that she truly can't function doing anything outside the house without support. This is a hard reality to face, but isn't she lucky that she doesn't have to face this reality alone? Unlike me who will have to do this one day (assuming I live that long) alone.
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