Grieving the little things

I look to my right and I see her soundly sleeping. Her face is lax, her breathing even. It is time for lunch but I know her sleep is important so I let her be. I am sitting in the recliner in their room working on my laptop. I have a feeling I will be spending more and more days like this. I see that my routine is changing again and she will need me to be nearer than I’ve been in the past months. Mom looks for me or dad more often when she is awake. She wants to be part of what is going on and if having me in the same room with her comforts her, then I’ll be in here. She feels safest in their bedroom and really it is a nice room to be in.  There is a large window that overlooks the backyard and it’s a rather nice view. The sun doesn't shine directly into the room but there is plenty of natural light. With the window open I can hear the birds and neighborhood sounds. And if the dog is outside I can easily keep an eye on her. I will make these necessary changes in my daily routine to ensure she is calm and comforted.

Last night I read the obituary of a high school classmate. She lost her fight with breast cancer on Monday and Tuesday would have been her 38^th birthday. My classmate and I weren’t close anymore but her death touches me. I cry for her, her husband, her children, her family and her friends. She was a good woman and cancer took her much too soon. I pray for comfort for all those grieving her.

Her death is causing me to see something I hadn't wanted to acknowledge yet. The person I would normally reach out to immediately at the news of a classmate’s death (any death for that matter) would be mom. She was an aid at my middle school and she knew many of my classmates and those above me in school as well as many below. She knew this woman that passed- at one time this classmate and I had been best friends. If mom didn't have dementia I would have called her and we'd have reminisced and cried together. We would have cursed cancer and she would have consoled me. But I can't do that anymore. I can't tell her that someone I knew died. I also won't tell her I recently found out that one of the teachers she worked with passed away a month ago. I don’t tell her these things because not only do they confuse her but they cause her to cry and wonder why she can't “just go to Heaven.” Those conversations get both her and I upset. I do not know how to best deal with her questions of why she’s still here when she'd rather not be a burden to me and dad. I try to change the subject but sometimes she just can't be derailed. So instead of telling her things that will upset her, I keep my tears hidden from her- I do not let her see that I'm upset. I plaster a smile on my face and cry later where she can’t see or hear me.

Instead of losing my mom suddenly and then coming to terms with all the little things I'll no longer get to do, I'm grieving now for the little things. A few months ago it was her cell phone being turned off that hit me in the heart; today it’s not being able to talk to her about someone dying. Tomorrow it will be something different dawning on me that I no longer can do with mom.

I am experiencing deaths slow march in a different way than with Tony. I don't know which is way is worse: watching him decline and knowing he fully understood what was happening to him or watching my mom decline and lose her knowledge of what is happening. Both of these ways drain the caregiver and cause emotions I'd rather never have first hand experience with.  

I usually try to end a blog with “I know I'll be okay” or “I will survive this”. But today I'm not going to try to put a positive spin on this. I’m going to admit my classmate’s death has made me melancholy and I will shed more tears for her and for the loss of one more part of my mom. I am allowed to feel this way and shouldn't keep it in. I am grieving.