Thursday, October 27, 2016

I miss him so much.

That stare.  When I walk into the Memory Care Unit to visit Gary after a long day of work, I see him looking through me.  Today, I said, "Hi Baberoon!"  He said, "Ada Mae."  No emotion, no enthusiasm.  I sat next to him and waited with him for his dinner. 

I held his hand and attempted to get him to look at me.  My mistake.  I was sitting next to him on his left.  I should know that he doesn't really relate to anything on his left.  I put my hand on his chin and asked him to look at me.  He didn't.  I asked him again and pulled on his chin.  He glanced at me and then looked toward the kitchen where the food was being delivered.  He just stares with no obvious indication of what he is thinking.

His soup came and I fed him.  He eats voraciously.  He is in such a large wheelchair that it is difficult to get him to the table.  The distance between his mouth and the table lends to leaving food on his lap.  I apologize to him and wipe his mouth.  He has no awareness that I am a sloppy feeder.

I am numb.  I am so tired that I sit there feeding him and think, "I just want to go home and lay in the bed." The angels/caregivers come by and check on the various residents.  Poor Martha fell out of her bed while I was in Virginia and fractured her arm.  Her hand is swollen to the size of a hulk-like appendage. She ate all of her dinner and assisted Marianna with pointing out her prune juice.  Even the weakest still have some ability to be aware and help others.

It is so sad.  Apparently, while I was gone, several of the residents fell and have varying injuries.  It is so sad. Why do I see it as "sad" and not "beautiful"?  Because it is unfair that these beautiful human souls are afflicted with such horrible cognitive issues.  There is no justice.

As I fed Gary his dinner of Eggplant and spaghetti, I realized that Nancy was not there.  I did notice yesterday that the Hospice Nurse was watching one of the angels  feed her as she continually pushed away the food.  My thoughts were that she is getting weaker.  Is death near?  Perhaps.  So, when she was not in the dining room, I asked about her.  I was told that she is sleeping in her room.  While my suspicions were not confirmed, I am plagued by what I will do when one of these precious souls passes.  What an impact they have made on my life. 

What will I do when it is Gary?  Some insight into that came tonight when during dessert, he started trembling.  It looks like a seizure but it is merely a full body tremor.  His eyes were scared.  All I could do was hold his arm and tell him it was okay.  As the tremor subsided, he said, "that was too good." 

I am wondering if the tremors are related to his emotions.  I will never know as he cannot answer questions.

It is devastating.  I miss him so much. 

1 comment:

  1. Ada:

    I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Alfred, and I'm the guy who signed paperwork with you when you purchased your car from the CarMax in South Sacramento. I know it's been a while since that purchase, but that evening when you gave me the link to this blog, I started reading and haven't stopped reading it since.

    It has definitely helped me during my own journey. My grandma also has dementia, to the point now where she is in a facility that can best handle and keep monitor, much better than myself. I go and see her every other week, which gives me some time to get my own life situated, on top of my work schedule.

    I appreciate you sharing your journey, probably more than you realize. It's hard for me to articulate to others how it feels, the pain, the worry, and all of the emotions I feel. It's nice to have someone out there who knows and understands exactly what is going on, even without saying much.

    As I pray for my grandma each day, I will continue to pray for not only Gary, but yourself. I commend you for everything you have done to this point and will continue to do. I know it is not easy and there are days where you are drained more than words can dictate. But I appreciate you and what you're doing, and the help you're putting out to the world.