Sunday, January 15, 2012

Our New Normal

It's been some time since I posted about Dad's current condition.
The reason? There's really not much to say. Because Dad really does not have much to say. Recently, my brother went to visit him. When Dad saw him, he said, "hi, son."
I looked back over some old posts, at where we were and where we've come. Did I ever think then as we started this journey that only two words would be "significant communication"? Did I ever even know what Alzheimer's meant? It's not just forgetting, but it's losing everything you've ever known, and most of the time in a very irrational way. And then after that, nothing and emptiness.
When people ask me, "how's your dad?" what am I to say? They are kind in asking, but I imagine myself bluntly saying in a flat voice, "he's dying, in a slow, pitiful way." Most of the time, I politely respond, "oh, about the same." How could they know what that means? And that "sameness" is flickering down ever so slowly that I can hardly see the change until I compare now with then.

Today has been three years since Dad entered skilled care. My grief is different now. I step out. I press on. I have to. Mom also celebrated her 75th birthday without the one she loves (present tense) most on this earth. She was surrounded and honored by ones who love her. Mom has a husband and three children. She asked me for a copy of a picture taken today of "just the five of us." She frowned and corrected herself, "just the four of us."

~We live, we love, we forgive
and never give up
because the days we are given
are gifts from above.
And today we remember
To live and to love~

(Superchic[k])

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