THE DEVASTATION OF DEMENTIA ...

 
I've been missing my mom more than usual this week and reflecting on what my dad and I experienced as she declined. Not only did she have cancer, but she also had dementia. While the cancer was eating away at her body, the dementia was doing the same to her mind. Seeing that beautiful, vibrant woman waste away physically was devastating, but the added emotional turmoil of dementia made it practically unbearable.

 As both diseases progressed, I retired to help my dad with her care. We knew what to expect with the cancer; however, the dementia was not as predictable. There was joy, laughter, and lots of love -- switching to anger, paranoia, and extreme confusion. Her mental state would fluctuate from one day to the next and, sometimes, one minute to the next.

We were in constant contact with her doctor and hospice, and although they offered good advice, they kept repeating one statement: "Do not take what she says or does personally." Well, that sounds easy enough, but it's hard not to when your loved one uncharacteristically lashes out, physically and/or verbally, or worse, runs away. During those episodes, we found ourselves in a chaotic mass of bewilderment, despair, hurt, anger, resentment … You name it, we felt it. Although we mentally realized this wasn't Mom but dementia … convincing our hearts was a different story. She didn't remember the outbursts ... one ray of light in those dark times; otherwise, she would have been mortified and inconsolable.

Dementia is unrelenting and cruel and can take an emotional and physical toll on everyone involved. Without the resources available to us, the love and support of family and friends, and most importantly, our faith in God, we would still be picking up the pieces.

I don't know why I was compelled to write this, maybe someone out in the blogosphere needs to see they are not alone, or perhaps I'm reaching a new stage in the grief process. What I do know is that even though dementia made some days more difficult than others, they were all days spent with an incredible and beautiful woman I loved so very much, and for me, that's all that matters.

 

 HAVE A BLESSED DAY!

An Adoption Story

A drug-addicted woman left a seven-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl in a dilapidated motel room to bail her boyfriend out of jail. She never returned. It took three days to discover those two frightened children, and during that time, they survived on food the little boy found in dumpsters. The abandonment was reprehensible but paled compared to the abuse and neglect they endured since birth. To make a long story short, they were both placed in foster care and eventually released for adoption.

• That little boy is my son, Bobby, placed with Don (my late ex-husband) and me.  Due to various circumstances, his sister was placed with another family based on the recommendations of therapists. Through a coordinated effort with his sister's new parents in Connecticut, we ensured they maintained contact through phone calls, letters, and summer visits.

  When Bobby first moved in, there were trust issues. He considered our home temporary like all the others and resisted getting attached. We were prepared for that but not the fear.  He hid food under his bed fearing he might not have any the next day.  Whenever we brought him new clothes or shoes, he slept with them under his pillow for the same reason. Due to prior severe punishments, he was also terrified of dirtying or damaging his clothes.  

  Considerable time passed before the fear subsided and only when the judge signed the adoption papers did he finally accept he was wanted and a forever member of our family. That happened thirty years ago today.

  I'm not saying it was an easy road.  Memories of abuse haunted him, which evoked angry outbursts and self-destructive behavior as expected with post-traumatic stress.  He thrived with love, prayer, patience, and therapy but most importantly due to his strong determination to heal.

  Words cannot adequately describe my love for that precious eleven-year-old boy and the love and pride I have for the man, father and grandfather he became.

   

 

Bobby wrote the following for his school's anthology when he was in sixth grade, the story of his life up to that point:

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 THE LONG ROAD HOME

(A True Story)

Bobby – Grade 6