Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Staying positive in the face of searing sadness


If you take anything away from my blog, please don't let it be sadness or sympathy.  I am in need of neither.  I hope you can see hope and love of family.

I have done a lot of thinking over the past week  - reflecting on why I started this blog, what drives me to keep posting, and what message I want to share with those who visit these pages.

No-one chooses to be personally connected to Alzheimer's - it's just the luck of the draw.  And when my beloved mother drew the short end of the stick, so did we all.

All of this reflection has made me realize that when your loved one has AD the grieving process really is fluid - and without closure you can't really heal.

I intellectuallize and compartmentalize the tough stuff so that I can move on...after all, life goes on. But when I really take a moment to "feel", it's in such a moment that I am overwhelmed by searing sadness.

Sadness that my kids had to give up so much in the early years to allow me to deal with Mom's rapidly advancing illness.  Sadness that Mom never really knew how great all her grandkids turned out - or the successes that Davie and I are having in midlife.  Sadness that I can never really tell Mom how grateful I am for all she did for me, and gave to me.  Sadness that my Dad is spending his golden years without her by his side.  Sadness that, as Mom said, "it all ended too soon".

And yet I don't spend a lot of my time being sad.  That would be a waste.  I try to be positive and thankful - traits that my mother always showed in the good times and the bad.

I am thankful for my family, and the health of my loved ones.  I am thankful for Baycrest - the wonderful long term care facility where my mother lives.  I am thankful for the many good years we had together, and for the memories that bring me comfort in those moments of sadness.  I am thankful for my dreams - where my mother is well, and vibrant - because in those moments I hug her longer and breathe in her perfumed scent, luxuriating in every second because somewhere deep down I know it will end when I waken.  I am thankful for the chance to write about her, and my family, and our life - then and now, and that there are people who want to read her story.  You help me to keep her alive as she was.

And as apprehensive as I am to go on national TV tomorrow to watch a clip that will probably make me look like an emotional, bumbling sap, I am grateful.  Because, as my best friend Diane (who will be with me tomorrow) said, it's not about being intelligent or insightful, it's about opening your heart and sharing your story so that it helps others to feel a little less alone.  If I'm lucky, they will connect to my story, and see through the bumbling words and teary frowns to my heart - which is still healing from the ongoing loss of my mother to Alzheimer's.

Until next time, I wish you a wonderful evening, filled with family, fun, friends and fantastic food.  B'Tayavon & Buon Appetito!