| presents excerpts from |
ISBN 0-9778140-0-9
326 pages, 68 photographs.
326 pages, 68 photographs.
 |
....The schedule of grieving the loss of a loved one with
Alzheimer’s is as irregular and individual as the beginning
and advancing of the disease itself. There is the matter of
how close the survivor was to the patient with Alzheimer’s.
Was it a caregiver who lived with the victim and the disease
day in and day out, or was it a relative or friend who may
or may not have visited the patient occasionally? Was it a
sensitive person who recognized and mourned the loss of
their loved one, or was it someone more businesslike who
dismissed the death quickly?
In my case, there was also the matter of mourning the loss
of the family as I had known it—not only the passing of
the second parent, but the damaged sibling relationships.
This was a secondary loss that came about as a result of the
disease, or at least how some people chose to respond to
the disease. These relationships could be reconstituted in a
new and agreeable style, but the previous open-ended trust
and love would be very slow in returning.
Shortly after the funeral, one of my siblings said, “Mother
was gone to me six or seven years ago.” I’m not sure what
determined her choice of the “goodbye” date.
It may have been when a certain level of dementia was
reached. Or, it may have resulted from not being involved
with Mother’s care, seeing very little of her, and finding it
convenient to detach herself from the whole caregiving
process.
Bernice’s oldest friend in Indianapolis approached Mother’s
illness in another form of detachment. I called Selma
occasionally to check on her health, as she was a widow
and alone. She would always ask about Mother and how
she was doing at the nursing home. At one point she said,
“Heydon, I went to the nursing home to visit her once.
While I was talking to her, she suddenly just turned her
wheelchair around and started scooting down the hall.
I don’t think she knew who I was. I just couldn’t go
again.” Another possibility for Selma’s discomfort may
have been that she was close to Mother’s age and fearful of
the nursing home awaiting her. So, Selma had her own way
of grieving, or avoiding it.
Grieving is an individual process, and the style and duration
of that event are simply based on the connection and
understanding you shared with the person who
passed away....
Alzheimer’s is as irregular and individual as the beginning
and advancing of the disease itself. There is the matter of
how close the survivor was to the patient with Alzheimer’s.
Was it a caregiver who lived with the victim and the disease
day in and day out, or was it a relative or friend who may
or may not have visited the patient occasionally? Was it a
sensitive person who recognized and mourned the loss of
their loved one, or was it someone more businesslike who
dismissed the death quickly?
In my case, there was also the matter of mourning the loss
of the family as I had known it—not only the passing of
the second parent, but the damaged sibling relationships.
This was a secondary loss that came about as a result of the
disease, or at least how some people chose to respond to
the disease. These relationships could be reconstituted in a
new and agreeable style, but the previous open-ended trust
and love would be very slow in returning.
Shortly after the funeral, one of my siblings said, “Mother
was gone to me six or seven years ago.” I’m not sure what
determined her choice of the “goodbye” date.
It may have been when a certain level of dementia was
reached. Or, it may have resulted from not being involved
with Mother’s care, seeing very little of her, and finding it
convenient to detach herself from the whole caregiving
process.
Bernice’s oldest friend in Indianapolis approached Mother’s
illness in another form of detachment. I called Selma
occasionally to check on her health, as she was a widow
and alone. She would always ask about Mother and how
she was doing at the nursing home. At one point she said,
“Heydon, I went to the nursing home to visit her once.
While I was talking to her, she suddenly just turned her
wheelchair around and started scooting down the hall.
I don’t think she knew who I was. I just couldn’t go
again.” Another possibility for Selma’s discomfort may
have been that she was close to Mother’s age and fearful of
the nursing home awaiting her. So, Selma had her own way
of grieving, or avoiding it.
Grieving is an individual process, and the style and duration
of that event are simply based on the connection and
understanding you shared with the person who
passed away....
Copyright ©2006 Heydon Buchanan. All Rights Reserved.
Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the gentle autumn rain. I am the sun-ripened golden grain.
And when you wake in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting
rush of circling birds and circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand by my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
—Navajo Epitaph
I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the gentle autumn rain. I am the sun-ripened golden grain.
And when you wake in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting
rush of circling birds and circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand by my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
—Navajo Epitaph
| CHAPTER 12 PICKING UP THE PIECES |