I mean, you expect that holidays and birthdays and the anniversary of the death date will be difficult. And even though I've only gone through one of those so far -- although technically I could count it as three, since my birthday, my hubby's birthday, and our anniversary all fall on the same day -- I can definitely attest that it was difficult. You even expect the changing of the new months and the change of seasons to be difficult, and they are. Any sign that the world is moving on with no regard to the fact that a huge part of yours is no longer here is just painful beyond words.
What I did not anticipate is that every freaking Friday would be so hard. And it usually starts on Thursday, because somewhere along the way I get to thinking that my Dad's last full day on earth was a Thursday, and it all goes downhill from there in my mind.
I know I've written about this before. Some Fridays are harder than others. This seems to be one of them.
I think I feel guilty because I can't help my Mom. I want to help my Mom, and I've tried to help my Mom, but...it's complicated. Complicated and frustrating. I don't want to speak ill of her because she's got her own things going on that I can't even imagine right now, too. I mean, besides the fact that even though we are both grieving the same person, our grief is NOT the same.
It sounds so simple, but I think it took me some time to realize that, too. I mean, duh. Losing a husband of 60 years and losing a father are obviously not the same thing. You can't draw comparisons there. Aside from the fact that who he was to each of us is completely different, and what our lives are now without him is also completely different, it's also that we are two completely different people with different personalities, coping strategies, and outlooks on the world. We're kind of like oil and water. Or oil and coffee. We look the same on the outside, but in this situation, that's where the similarities end.
But I still feel bad (and don't tell me I shouldn't because I know I "shouldn't" but I still do) because I can't help her. She wants me to help her, and I want to help her, but it's taken me about this long to realize that as much as I want to, and she wants me to, and I wish I could, I really can't. Because I don't know how. I only have a few tools in my toolbox, and I'm trying to show her how to use them, but if she refuses to use them, I can't do anything more. Not only that, but I. Need. Help. Too.
It very much reminds me of a meme I saw once that described having a baby as: Imagine that it's two days after you've been in a horrible car accident and now you have to leave the hospital, but they're also sending you home with a tiny stranger who is completely dependent on you and has also just been in a car accident. You got this!
I guess I feel bad that I'm apparently handling this "better" than my Mom is? But again, it was a different relationship. I think that most adults realize that we're going to outlive our parents and are mentally prepared on some level to deal with this when it happens. (At least, those of us who are fortunate enough to have this opportunity!) But I'd dare to say that most of us wives don't go around mentally preparing ourselves to live longer than our husbands, even though that is the statistical likelihood. And then if you throw in any amount of dependence (for example, having relied upon your husband for transportation your entire life because you never obtained a driver's license) or social isolation (due to social anxiety or any cause, really) and a good ol' healthy dose of denial, then yeah, it's not at all difficult to see how something that is already not easy to deal with could be even harder to deal with. I wish I could fix all of that. I would give my right arm to be able to fix all of that for my Mom, but I can't. I mean, if amputation was the answer, I'd already be missing my right-sided limbs and my Dad would be alive and well and not suffering from dementia at all 😉 but it doesn't work that way.
I'm learning to understand that now and not feel so guilty about it. But it's difficult.
She has asked me what I think she should do. I have strongly, from the first day that Dad was enrolled in hospice, and even before then, suggested that she seek professional medical advice. I've pushed for meds. I've pushed for Jesus. She's always argued back. I don't want to argue about it, so I just let it go. You asked, I answered, you don't like my answers, OK then. You ask again later, I'm going to give you the same answers, you still don't like them, OK then. You keep asking, I'm going to keep giving you the same answers, because these are the things that work for me, and if you still don't like my answers, I don't know what to tell you because you know what I'm going to keep telling you. And now with my Dad gone, I don't have anyone to back me up and say Hey, maybe Tash knows what she's talking about, why don't you listen to her?
And then out of the blue, she'll be like, I had this idea, I think I might try seeing a therapist, what do you think? and I just sit there biting my tongue like, O rly? What a grand idea, I would have never thought of that nor have I been suggesting it for the last 5 years...Yeah no, that sounds like a good idea, you should definitely do that. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Then a minor inconvenience will pop up and she'll scrap the whole thing and we'll be back to square one.
It's exhausting. Almost as exhausting as it was watching my Dad decline for the last 5-10 years. Yet again I'm watching one of my parents decline and there's nothing I can do about it, but try to be the strong, sensible, responsible one for their sake, and take everything they say with a grain of salt because I know it's not them but their disease that is talking. Because if I tell them what they are dealing with is a disease, they don't believe me, anyway.
Brains are amazingly complex and frustrating things. And on that note, I'm gonna sign off and get back to work, and try to trick mine into wanting to get as much work done as possible the rest of the afternoon. Wish me luck!!
