EPT
- Summer eulogies and Autumn salutations. -
Hey guys, thanks for reading again. Last time I wrote I was pretty much at the launching-off point of my summer, preparing for my biggest summer trips and festivities and eager to gush about my plans. Safe to say the plans came to fruition, and it was a great summer, despite the somber and slightly cryptic title of this blog. I haven't been around here a lot, and it has everything to do with me working , spending most of my recreational time making road trips, going to shows, hanging out with friends, and pursuing romantic interests (ah yes, the bane of many a man's internet browsing habits).
![[image loading]](/staff/p4NDemik/Me/blog_images/banegif.gif)
Wipe that look off your face Bane, I got 99 problems but you are not really a pressing issue at this time #notagirlblog.
So yeah, it's been a good summer. Life moving just as fast as ever, good times going by very rapidly, until events unfold and I am unexpectedly railroaded by something I didn't realize I was dealing with, and have been for a while. It's like a ghastly shark, circling a wading swimmer just a few meters below the surface of the water, completely unbeknownst to the poor chap.
- About that bigger boat ... -
On the eve of a concert that I've been anticipating for a while now, I'm sitting here listening to albums and watching videos of live performances. Sigur Rós is blaring in my headphones and up until a few hours ago all I could do was listen and weep. Why this music is triggering such an emotional response isn't immediately evident, but what is strikingly obvious is just the feeling of loss. Suck the wind out of you, head-in-hands, kind of loss. All grief is different, but in this case no one has died, no major breakup has occurred, and nothing has physically happened to me, so it's all the more unexpected.
It's a special breed of flesh-eating monster that presents itself in grief associated with Alzheimer's I suppose. About five-to-six years ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with the disease. It isn't something to be taken lightly, but in the early stages, little changed for myself, so the impact was not very immense. I had a general understanding of Alzheimer's. I could guess where things were headed at some point in the future, but the uncertainty of how fast that future would become a reality, combined with a slow decline over the course of the last half-decade, made for relatively easy-going times.
My family helped her move in with my aunt's family not long after the diagnosis. With my aunt having three young kids and a hectic job that arrangement could not last. My parents have no young children anymore, and my sister's room lay unused and empty, so she moved in with us. The most difficult things my mother would handle. Things hadn't progressed to such a point where daily tasks and communication were impossible for my grandmother to handle by herself, but a helping hand and watchful eye were always needed. Being my maternal grandmother, the great weight of the responsibilities fell to my mom, but being caretakers is inevitably a family affair in the long run.
Things weren't easy, but it was nice, being able to spend time with her then, before things deteriorated farther. Inevitably though, things progress. The stress, mostly on my mother, made things untenable. Since the move out of our house moving has felt like a constant. Assisted living. Hospital. Rehab. Assisted living. Hospital. Senior behavior health center (better known as a geriatric psych ward). Hospital. Assisted living. Assisted living at an advanced Alzheimer's unit. Hospice. Hospice.
Hospice. That came sometime last week. All the movement. The dizzying movement from one place to the next to try to provide the best care while preserving my mother's sanity. My mom has had power of attorney during this entire process and thus has pretty much taken on this responsibility as her full-time job. Constantly on the phone with one health company or another. I don't know how she manages.
The grief associated with all this is so gradual I hardly realized it's there. All this time she is gradually slipping away. Not dead, but not the same person all the same. Losing a little bit every day. Sometimes gaining a little bit after a particularly bad spell, say, accelerated by a urinary tract infection, or a fall. But mostly it is a gradual, seemingly perpetual cycle of loss. It doesn't hit me until the major incidents make it abundantly clear how far she is gone. Like a frog slowly boiled alive there is a certain sense of security to the slowness of the decline.
Not until recently when things look increasingly bleak does it hit me in the form of a seven-minute song by an Icelandic band whose lyrics mean nothing yet at the same time everything imaginable. Eventually I give it some thought and can trace it back to the original source: the climactic scene in a popular Wes Anderson flick: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. I watched it months back before the summer really got rolling. I cried then but didn't really grasp why at the time.
The story is comedy, but one played out within the context of protracted grief. The main character's best friend is killed. The world doesn't seem to understand, it even shuns the supposed story surrounding the death. Other close loved ones all seem to be suffering as well, but there is a gulf of emotions between them that it keeps then from confronting and discussing their grief with each other. Another loss touches all the characters. All until that moment. The scene in question is one of realizing and confronting that grief. Here's to that.
Thanks for reading.
