Finality

 

Shelley and I took a Bluebonnet Trip. She was in the early stages of Dementia.

Full of life. Bubbly. Fun. She sparkled.

 

At the bank yesterday, I closed Shelley’s account.

I wrote the last check in December 2024. I kept the account open in case of bills came in I needed to pay. I also dreaded another goodbye. There seems to be an unending assortment of them.

I put it off as long as I could. There’s something so final about it. She and I opened the account together, and I have written checks on her behalf for a long time.

The official at the bank wanted explanations. “Did we do something wrong? Why do you wish to close your account?”

“My daughter passed away.”

“My condolences. So, who do you live with now?”

She asked an odd question. What was the lady thinking about?  She wanted to know unnecessary, none-of-your business information.  Perhaps she was confused about who took care of whom. She had my ID in her hands and knew my age. I guess she was thinking my daughter took care of me, and now I was left on my own. People at the facilities where our daughter lived were always confused as to who I am.

 I replied to her unorthodox probe, “My husband.”

And then, feeling the need to explain, I told her we had taken care of our daughter for ten years.

Tears kept gathering in my eyes, but I choked them down while the lady dealt with business and gathered information about me.

Another question she asked. “What did you do before you retired?”

I replied, “I write books, and I continue to write. I write about faith in Christ. Are you a believer?”

I decided to do a little interrogation of my own.

She assured me she is, and then she said, “You look familiar. I must have read your books.”

I highly doubt this, but it was nice to hear.

 This transaction took about an hour, and I left the bank with an overwhelming sense of sadness.

Closing the account was necessary, but am I finished with all things that need to be done? NO, I’m not. I have boxes to go through and items to give to charity. I have pictures to put away. I have stuff I need to send to her children. But all of it is difficult.

Grief is different for everyone. Kinda like snowflakes. Snow in Houston melts fast. A few get over grief like a Houston snowflake. Others live with grief like Canadians do in a blizzard.

I’ve loved our daughter from conception, and I took care of her while she lived inside me near my heart.   I never dreamed she would go to glory before me.

Once, while our daughter could still speak, she clasped her hands in front of her, and said, “I need to tell you something. Thank you for taking care of me.”

She was grateful, and if it had been me instead of her, she would have done the same for me or her dad or her sisters.

Tips for Caregivers

1. Do as much as you can to make final arrangements in advance.

2. If you need to close an account, can you do so without a death certificate?

3. Talk to your banker and ask questions.

4. Talk to your facility, or funeral director and ask questions.

 

Dementia Is a Thief!

 Dementia Is an Ugly, Creepy Thief!

 

Dementia robs a person of his or her mind, and then it takes the body.  It may take years, or perhaps a lucky person endures the robber for only a few months.

The thief stayed with our daughter for over ten years. He crept in  a few years earlier, but we didn’t notice him. It didn’t matter. We couldn't prevent his entrance. Even when I saw him stealing from our daughter, I couldn’t shoot him, arrest him, or shoo him away. I deterred him as long as I could. No matter what I did, Dementia is a bandit. He came slowly and never left. 

He mocked me as I prayed and tried to stop him from destroying our daughter.

I failed. He took her.

Here's the bottom line!

He sometimes looks normal, but he's evil.

Dementia robbed me, too!

And not just of our daughter.

I was tied down for ten years. I worried. I prayed. I visited. I met with facility admins and doctors. I stayed in the hospital with her many times when she was admitted.  I paid bills. I was consumed with responsibility.

Most often, family members and caregivers don’t realize the bandit is devouring them, also. This horrible gangster steals a caregiver’s health, money, energy, emotions, and time.

Health, money, energy, and happy emotions might be regained at some point.

But time is gone forever.

Why can’t solutions be found for Alzheimer’s/Dementia? Researchers are trying, but results are few.

My suggestion for caregivers who live in the midst of a robbery are these:

1. Do what you can to help others.

2.  Share your experiences. If you can, give talks. Write a blog. Take an animal into a facility. Play the piano for the residents in a care facility. Give money. Walk for the cure.

3. Fight the thief. I know the robber will win, but you can feel relief because you fought a good battle.

Gay's Books

Grief! Here it Comes Again.

 

Boom! It Happens!

While driving past my turnoff to Shelley’s former residence last Saturday, I suddenly had overwhelming sadness visit me. It was noon, and about that time, twelve weeks ago, I was with her saying goodbye. She transitioned to heaven that day about 5:30. Tears came, but I quickly wiped them away and kept driving.

I was headed toward lunch with two friends whom I met at one of the memory care facilities. Their husbands were there. We connected instantly. Mr. H passed first, then, two months later, Shelley did also. Mr. C is now in the process of transitioning.

My friends understood my weepy condition. After lunch, we sat at the Olive Garden for three hours as we shared hope and help for each other.

Later, with an attempt to express emotion, I posted a statement on Facebook. I said, “Sadness is an unwelcome surprise.” People began contacting me. “Are you okay?”

Yes, I’m doing well. But I rock along thinking my grief is growing smaller, and then it hits me again out of nowhere.

The hospice company wrote me a letter and offered to talk anytime. They stated that the first year is the hardest and grief will live with me.

I’m finding that true.

A friend whose daughter died thirty years ago said she continues to have unexpected moments of sorrow.

How does one prepare for the unexpected sadness?

I’m not sure there is an answer to the question, but I have decided it will happen, so Gay, don’t be surprised.

Grief comes with loss. My heart breaks for citizens who lost everything in the California fires. There are still multitudes of homeless people in North Carolina. My friends lost beloved pets. Another one lost his job.

I Peter 5:7 reminds us to “cast our care on Him because He cares for us.”  I’m placing my name in that verse. “Gay, cast your care on Him because He cares for you.”

If you are sad today, I hope you will find comfort from knowing you aren’t alone. There are many of us out here, and we have an understanding.  The Lord God is also caring about us and our grief.

Why does He allow misery? Well, that’s another story.

I only know He cares. When the inevitable circumstances He allows come our way, He cares when we grieve.

He understands it. He experienced grief when He saw His Son endure the cross.