Posted By: Sonja
Often Alzheimer’s Disease is referred to this way. Some caregivers chafe at it because it seems depressing and final. Alzheimer’s is a terminal disease-until research is found to prevent, and/or cure it. It’s a fact. There is no escaping it. Yup. I know that. I know when I looked at my dad when he was diagnosed exactly what it meant. I had just finished my coursework and gotten my license as a Dementia Care Specialist. So, I put on my clinical hat and did what needed to be done. Then, he began to decline and suddenly the realization struck me that his Alzhiemer’s was actually going to progress just like everyone else’s. It didn’t hit me all at once. As a matter of fact, it hits me in bits and pieces still. Well, of course. I knew this was coming-on a clinical level. So, in good Norwegian style I marched on. That’s where I made a bit of a mistake. I dug my heels in and told myself that this was my area of expertise and I was going to tough this out and care for him if I had to die doing it. Here is where my husband comes into it. He looked at me and asked, “When are you going to start taking your own advice.” What? And then I saw it. I couldn’t just find a way to say goodbye. I had to find a way to let go. I had to learn that me dying by taking care of my dad was not going to save him. I can’t save him. I have to remember that somewhere in there-even though he doesn’t know me-he knows I love him. I know he loves me. Now I have to look at what is best for him and for my mother. It reminds me somewhat of when my kids were young and it was time for shots. It broke my heart for them to have the pain, but I loved them enough to make them do it because it was best for them.
Now my dad wanders. He can unlock the apartment door. Well, we can remedy that. Then I begin to see the exhaustion in my mother. She is determined to soldier on as well, but caregivers will die seven years earlier thanks to their caregiving. Her health is declining. I promised my father I would keep him at home so long as it didn’t effect my mother’s health. He was in total agreement with that. Now the time has come. It’s going to be a tough fight. Tougher than fighting with a two year old to get a shot because the dynamic is totally different.
In October my father will go into respite care because my mother is having hip surgery. The question then will be whether or not the care of my father is killing my mother. If so, it’s time to make some big tough decisions. These decisions come to us all and aren’t easy for anyone. I need to let myself be his daughter, but also look at this as objectively as I can. Mom is 81. I am 52. We will continue to do everything possible for Dad, but we can’t let our emotions cloud what’s best for everyone. Hanging on won’t cure him. We have to allow ourselves to let go. As I heard my sister say once, “You’ve felt the guilt. Now let it go.”
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