Spinning
December 26, 2020 is simply put as the worst day of my life. This day was the outcome of the hardest decision my mother has had to make as a wife. A decision no human being should have to make for another human they love.
I sit here as I lick the red wine from my lips, glass in hand, dried tears on my cheek, and I know it’s time to write. I know it’s time to unravel in my words while updating those who care about the recent events.
Dad has been living with his Mom, my Grandma, full time for the last few months as 2 homes had become too confusing. We were always grateful he has never been angry, violent, or hostile during the last 6 years. We have heard horror stories about others with the disease who snapped and caused harm to their caregivers and those they loved.
I have asked my mom to only update me on his condition when it was absolutely necessary. I find when I spend time apart from him, my spontaneous visits are full of love and joy rather than feeling repetitive, heavy, and hard to carry on through life with a happy demeanor. On my last memorable visit with him, I stopped by to take him on an afternoon walk. Instead of walking the same path as we always did, I asked him to lay in the grass with me on a beautiful 80-degree day. I played one of his favorite songs, “Over the Rainbow” by Iz, we stared at the sky, held hands, as I listened to him hum and attempt to sing the words he once knew so well.
His type of Alzheimer’s affects his speech and he can barely make out any words. When the song came to an end, we sat up and continued to enjoy the fresh air and sun. He looked at me and all on his own, clear as day he said:
“Everything will be okay”.
It was the best message from the Universe I have ever received. During this time I was crying often and struggling to get out of bed. When I needed my Dad most, he was there. We hugged, cried, and I told him how much I love him. An hour later when I was getting ready to leave the house and hugged him goodbye he told me in my ear: “Remember what I said, remember what I said”. It was the last good day I had with him, and I think subconsciously we both knew that. I soaked in every minute of that afternoon along with the last words of advice my Dad will ever give me.
One week prior to the 26th, my mom shed light on how dark his disease has become. He has been hallucinating a bad man trying to kill him. Gripping his own wrists so tightly, believing he caught the bad man, it was forming horrible cuts and bruises on his arms. He was pounding my Grandma’s walls so hard out of anger and frustration, it broke her thermostat. All the mirrors in her house were covered with tissue paper because his reflection triggered the hallucinations. He wasn’t sleeping through the night, he was leaving the house in anger more frequently, and it was becoming an unsafe environment for both him and my Grandma. We all knew the day would come when we had to put him in a home, but we didn’t know the day was approaching so soon.
The decision was so sudden and dire, it occurred at the same time as my stupid rhinoplasty surgery. There is no such thing as good timing, but this was too much pain for one person to go through at once. Christmas day, day 3 of my healing journey, we had one last beautiful day as a family. Mom, Dad, and I walked to the ocean while the sun beat down on our skin. I stood with him as I looked him in the eyes knowing the next day he would have a new home, I asked:
“Do you know how much I love you?” I asked over and over again until my voice cracked and tears welled in my eyes. “yes” he said, “I know, I know”.
Saturday morning came, he had no idea his world was about to completely change, as would ours. The weather was so drastically different than the day before - dreary, wet, and grey. But it fit the day perfectly, it would have been odd for the saddest day of our lives to be sunny and bright. Mom and I silently drove him to his new home. I took his hand, helped him out of the car, and held it as we began to make our way through the gate. He looked at the beautiful garden without knowing it would soon be his and said: “wow”. He loves nature and this garden was filled with green grass, bright flowers, chirping birds, painted rocks, and a concrete pathway perfectly suited for afternoon walks. I held his hand as we walked the grounds until we got to the door. It was a cold day and the caretaker suggested he go inside, but due to Covid we weren’t allowed in but for a split second, I forgot all about Covid. Holding his hand, I said okay go on ahead, fully expecting to follow. The caretaker looked at me and said in a solemn tone, you can’t go inside with him…. and the door shut. I didn’t hug him. I didn’t kiss him. I let go of his hand and I didn’t know when I would get to hold it again. I looked at mom confused and sad, I was in denial of what even happened.
The rest of the day was a grey blur. We went to Target to buy fresh sheets and blankets for his new bed and it was packed with people, being the day after Christmas. Packed with people carrying on with life, returning Christmas gifts, running errands, buying necessities, while mom and I were there to purchase bedding for my dying father’s bed in an Alzheimer’s home. It was the first time I felt the world spinning around me as I stood completely still. It’s the first time I felt anger towards the world for carrying on with life when life would surely never be the same. It was the first time I understood the contradiction of feeling both heaviness and numbness that is diagnosed as grief. My father was removed from his loving mother’s home and put into a new place with new people, confused, scared, and alone because he was now putting himself and others in danger. This was the moment we have all been dreading. This is when we begin to mourn, this is where the real decline begins. This is when the pain sets in and the tears flow every night. Death is a relief, a peaceful place for the deceased and loved ones. But this new home full of caretakers and strangers, although beautiful, sweet, and warm, was not a place he would have ever wanted to be at the age of 60 years old.
The day altered my life as well as that night. I laid next to my mother as she wailed, sobbed, wept the most genuine cry. I have never in my life heard a person cry so raw and loud that it completely silenced me. I was frozen, unable to hold her, sob with her, or say a word. All I could do was lay beside her as the realization that she put the love of her life in a home, set in. My own sobs would come much later, during my first night alone.
Through the pain of all of this, my heart naturally yearned for the person who carried it. Have you heard of the song “If the World Was Ending” by Julia Michaels?
I know, you know, we know
We weren't meant for each other and it's fineBut if the world was ending
You'd come over, right?
You'd come over and you'd stay the night
Would you love me for the hell of it?
All our fears would be irrelevant
If the world was ending
You'd come over, right?
The lyrics ran through my head, as my own world was crashing, changing, crumbling. I reached out to the person I recognize as safe and love unconditionally. The person I trust with my pure feelings whether happiness or sorrow. In response to the news, he was kind, he was present, but I became enraged with myself and my expectations. He would not pick up the phone to call. He would not be standing at my doorstep. He would not come over, stay the night, and love me for the hell of it. Even when the world was ending…. my world was ending. Enraged that during a time I needed to be there for myself and my family most, I felt I couldn’t give them my all simply because I am still reeling over the hole that was left in the center of my body from his blindsiding absence.
I recently connected the dots as to why it’s been so hard for me to let go of the love I have for him. The love I have is partly related to the relief I felt when I thought I met “the one”, in time. My wedding day was a special topic my Dad and I used to thoroughly enjoy talking about. He wanted to walk me down the aisle, the one big job a dad gets to do for his little girl, so bad. Dad met my ex and said, “he’s good, he’s good”. I had his approval, I felt the relief, and I had hope that my dad would still make it to my big day. The relief was quickly robbed and grief took its place. I am coming to terms with the fact that Dad won’t be there on my wedding day. He won’t get to approve of a man I will love one day. He won’t get to do the one big job he so looked forward to completing. And I have to find in my heart, that it’s okay.
When we learned of Dad’s diagnosis 6 years ago, we knew this day would come. I just assumed I wouldn’t be recovering from the worst year of my life when it was time. I assumed I would never go through it alone. But alone is the word I find on my lips most often when people ask how I am feeling.
When I cry, I cry because my heart is broken. I no longer know the origin of this heartbreak anymore - who am I crying for or what? The falling out of my best girlfriend? The grim state of the world? The absence of the love of my life? Which “him” am I missing most? I simply feel pain, with too many circumstances to blame it on.
Dad has been living in his safe new home for almost 2 weeks now. We can visit him outside, wearing masks, and 6 feet apart. He is adjusting well, but declining cognitively very fast. When I visit, I bring sweet treats to enjoy while playing Elton John, Bohemian Rhapsody, and of course our Over the Rainbow song as it perks him up and reveals a small version of the man I call Dad. He is bonding with the fluffy white house dog named Louie and making friends with his new caretakers.
I am continuing to learn more about resiliency with each day and the challenges they bring. I continue to miss a man I love very much. And yearn for advice from my father when the tears seem like they will never stop flowing. But then I remember the warm afternoon in the grass, and I hear the voice of my angel telling me everything will be okay. I become still. The tears stop. And the world keeps on spinning….
