But I Love Him

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. Things have progressed quite a bit since I was here last. Most days, I can’t write a word because the reality feels so harsh. Dad’s memory has obviously worsened. His ability to care for himself has lessened. Getting through the depression that set in just before the holidays has been impossible to describe. This normally non-emotional man had taken to daily bouts of tears. He frequently asks me how I would feel if everybody I loved died before me. I can’t begin to imagine.

In January, I sought help from his primary physician. In an attempt to address these problems, he was taken off Namenda and moved from Lexapro to Zoloft. The Aricept 10 was replaced with Aricept 23. So far, the changes have been rough. While he seems a bit clearer most days and his depression has lessened considerably, he does not feel well and can’t articulate how or why. We have had follow-up visits with his primary, his kidney doctor, and the ER (Dad insisted I take him though he couldn’t say why). They have assured me that we simply need to get through the 4-6 week medication adjustment and we should see a drastic improvement in his overall sense of well-being. Side effects from both of the new drugs include a general sense of feeling ill, loss of appetite, etc. I often wonder if it’s worth it but the doctors insist it is. Because I do see signs of improvement, I am doing just that for now.

When I agreed to come here and care for my mother-in-law and father-in-law, I couldn’t possibly have imagined all that it would entail. No one ever can. The cooking, cleaning, etc. are the easy parts. But I have discovered we all have our breaking points. Recently, I sat on the laundry room floor and cried after I put the 8th load of “soiled” laundry into the washer for the day. Then there was the night I cooked dinner and Dad asked me if there was anything he could do to help 69 times. I’m serious 69 times, I counted. He can’t complete the simplest of tasks and if I do ask him to do something, he usually forgets it a second later. His willingness to help is overwhelming at times. I am blessed because I know how grateful he is for every little thing I do but it can be a bit much at times.

Often, he feels as if nobody cares (though he always points out I’m the exception). Frequently, I wonder if he is right. I know that he is loved but that palls compared to being feared. When I married into this family, I was rather shocked at the reverence this matriarch and patriarch were given by their family and friends. People flocked around them. They were social butterflies at the height of flight back then. Now, Mom is gone. Seldom does the phone ring, and if it does, it is usually not for him (though frequently it is regarding him for example, doctors and such). The visitors we have are our friends, not his. Granted, most of his friends have passed on but you would think his minister or someone from the church would at least drop by occasionally. And I won’t even go into the deplorable lack of communication from his family outside this house.

I know it’s hard to deal with someone who tells the same stories over and over and over again. I know it’s difficult to be asked the same things day in and day out. I know it can be virtually impossible to interact with someone who seems so out of touch with reality. But I know it is important to reach out to these people, to help them prolong their tenacious grip. Avoidance and denial so often go hand-in-hand.

I hate that I am his only lifeline. But I love him. I hate this disease that is attacking him. But I love him. I hate that he feels so alone. But I love him. I will continue to love him and help him through it all because it’s the only thing I can do. I will be by his side until the bitter end.

And I will always thank God for giving me the opportunity to do all I am doing. Without Him, it just wouldn’t be possible.