tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post6200589999078486766..comments2024-03-23T18:50:32.902-04:00Comments on Telling Secrets: All I want for Christmas is her mind backElizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-8637968334161299552008-12-20T07:56:00.000-05:002008-12-20T07:56:00.000-05:00We went through this with my grandmother. My mothe...We went through this with my grandmother. My mother, now in her seventies herself, still speaks of it with tears in her eyes and carries a totally irrational guilt that she didn't "do more" for a woman who wasn't there any more.<BR/><BR/>What could she have done?Doorman-Priesthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06407399232593479871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-20633939314305415122008-12-12T19:19:00.000-05:002008-12-12T19:19:00.000-05:00It is so hard when those we love enter into the th...It is so hard when those we love enter into the thicket of dementia and Alzheimers. I fear my mother shall someday go there; there are too many short-term memory blips now. Prayers for you as you continue to walk with your friend and her partner.Caminantehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16610142955176992982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-37612544418150301612008-12-12T13:11:00.000-05:002008-12-12T13:11:00.000-05:00Thanks, SEC. It really does help to share the bur...Thanks, SEC. It really does help to share the burden of concern.Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-7347909285868425322008-12-12T12:12:00.000-05:002008-12-12T12:12:00.000-05:00I didnt feel bad at all. Sometimes Elizabeth, Mise...I didnt feel bad at all. Sometimes Elizabeth, Misery needs company. The act that makes hell less hellish is finding someone to talk to who understands. Finding someone who can laugh with you at the inappropriateness of the varieties of hell. In this case, the hell of dimentia. <BR/><BR/>I thought it was about sharing. I didnt want you to feel so alone, and in doing that I didnt feel so alone in this either.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-84985952653268630182008-12-12T09:54:00.000-05:002008-12-12T09:54:00.000-05:00Oh, Malcolm - thanks for your wonderful story. So...Oh, Malcolm - thanks for your wonderful story. Somehow, it helps to know that others have had the same experience. My father's dementia was hidden from us by my mother for the first year he started to fail. After his last admission to the hospital, it became pretty clear what was going on. He went from the hospital to a nursing home and went down rapidly after that. Mercifully, he died within 30 days. It was the worst 30 days of our lives as a family.<BR/><BR/>Fran - I really didn't do a thing. I just accepted the call to St. Paul's. God did the rest. And you know, if that's the only reason for my being called to St. Paul's, that would be enough. I know it's not, but that's how important this is.<BR/><BR/>I also understand the fear. Every now and again, when I can't remember someone's name, I panic inside. What a horrible disease.Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-28161638387281042582008-12-12T05:54:00.000-05:002008-12-12T05:54:00.000-05:00I have not had personal experience of this disease...I have not had personal experience of this disease, but I have watched as friends have dealt with it. God have mercy.<BR/><BR/>The whole idea of it terrifies me.<BR/><BR/>I must say that the first part of the post, where you describe how your arrival at St. Paul's literally changed this woman's life. <BR/><BR/>It made me think of how Del and Phyllis changed your life.<BR/><BR/>The great chain of being, the great cloud of witnesses.<BR/><BR/>This really moves me deeply. <BR/><BR/>God bless you dear Elizabeth+.Franhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07181529277715646835noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-65034811637217922722008-12-12T02:09:00.000-05:002008-12-12T02:09:00.000-05:00I aspire to cynicism, so it isn't often that somet...I aspire to cynicism, so it isn't often that something I read on the internet makes me cry.<BR/><BR/>Shed a tear, occasionally. Choke up a little, often. But not cry.<BR/><BR/>When I was too young to remember, my parents separated and my mother and I went to live with her grandmother, my great-grandmother, Nana. Mother had spent much of her later childhood living with Nana as well, in order to escape a thoroughly unpleasant home life.<BR/><BR/>This woman was now acting the mother to her great-grandson in the 60s, as she had to her granddaughter in the 50s. Ironically, she hadn't been able to mother her own children through much of the 20s and 30s because there were few social supports for a single mother, and none at all for a single mother whose father had a bit of money. So her children had spent much of their childhood in an orphanage.<BR/><BR/>Maybe that was why, when I would visit her in the final years of her life, that much of her confusion turned on how we were related. Who was my mother? Was it Nonie? No, Nana. Nonie is my grandmother. Diane is my mother. Only to get the same question again moments later.<BR/><BR/>The last time I saw her, my mother and grandmother had brought her to Kerrobert, Saskatchewan to meet her great-great-granddaughter, who had the blessing of being a five generation baby on her mother's side as well.<BR/><BR/>Nana's confusion is apparent in the official portrait. She clearly has no idea who this little baby is, or why we are all gathered for this picture.<BR/><BR/>That was June. She died in August. <BR/><BR/>She died in August. She had died years before.<BR/><BR/>My Nana taught me about the world. She taught me about God. She taught me about politics.<BR/><BR/>At her funeral, the wife of our former Premier showed me a book she had written about the North Side Ladies CCF Club in Regina. I had never known that Nana had been its president. The book observed that, in those days, she was caring for her young great-grandson, who had since become a party activist in his own right - a fifth-generation CCFer.<BR/><BR/>I learned, at her funeral, that Nana had been something of a grassroots political leader, and that past and future Premiers had been guests in our home.<BR/><BR/>Yet what I remember most about her funeral is the guilt.<BR/><BR/>The guilt that I had not visited her in nearly a year before she died.<BR/><BR/>Her confusion was so painful for me that I couldn't see or couldn't care how painful it was to her.<BR/><BR/>Elizabeth, thank you for visting this woman.<BR/><BR/>And thank you for telling the story.Malcolm+https://www.blogger.com/profile/08469936715413110334noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-39437309283406793072008-12-12T00:29:00.000-05:002008-12-12T00:29:00.000-05:00Prayers for all of you (esp. your friend, Lisbeth)...Prayers for all of you (esp. your friend, Lisbeth)<BR/><BR/>When I hear stories about Alzheimer's, I'm grateful my mom died of ALS (And ALS sucks beyond the telling of it! :-0)<BR/><BR/>Sending up Hail Mary's my dad (88) stays healthy a GOOD while longer, and then kicks suddenly...JCFhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14516376500318551838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-50253129877775498952008-12-11T23:57:00.000-05:002008-12-11T23:57:00.000-05:00Thanks, Kirke. I read your post of a year ago. G...Thanks, Kirke. I read your post of a year ago. Gosh, I hope I'm not writing a similar post a year from now.Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-68183839457393052512008-12-11T22:54:00.000-05:002008-12-11T22:54:00.000-05:00Oh, my goodness, dear Elizabeth; don't be sorry. ...Oh, my goodness, dear Elizabeth; don't be sorry. You made me go back to this post from almost a year ago...<BR/><BR/>http://kirkepiscatoid.blogspot.com/2008/01/today-he-is-man-at-age-77.html<BR/><BR/>It is now almost one year later. M.J. is a shadow of the person we saw on that day, he now lives in a locked dementia facility. But it is now that day, that moment, I turn to over and over and realize my friend and mentor of two decades is slowly returning to God's care, not ours. I continue to cling to the satisfaction that I helped him obtain the one thing that was most important for his journey. I hope I can continue to see that day when the day comes he no longer recognizes me.<BR/><BR/>I am sure you helped your parishioner take the steps she needed for her journey. The darkness never wins when the light of God is hiding in there, somewhere.Kirkepiscatoidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02651684515435040529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-23294497503917725992008-12-11T22:34:00.000-05:002008-12-11T22:34:00.000-05:00Dear Ones, I did not mean to stir up painful memor...Dear Ones, <BR/><BR/>I did not mean to stir up painful memories or realities, but I fear I have. I am so sorry. Thank you for your generous spirit, your graciousness and your kindness.<BR/><BR/>And, thank you for understanding. It is such a cruel disease that it makes me wonder: If we can put a man on the moon, why can't we find something - ANYTHING - to relieve this suffering?Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-80285206744090501272008-12-11T22:23:00.000-05:002008-12-11T22:23:00.000-05:00Thank you for crystalizing the difficulties of thi...Thank you for crystalizing the difficulties of this disease. My grandfather had this and others in our parish. <BR/>You write so beautifully of our shared pain.<BR/>chrissieAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-69888562262883404902008-12-11T21:51:00.000-05:002008-12-11T21:51:00.000-05:00i could not do your job. Period.My dad, 82, is st...i could not do your job. Period.<BR/><BR/>My dad, 82, is starting to slip. Not badly, just a little short term memory blip now and then. THe neurologist has him on various drugs. <BR/><BR/> But he remembers exactly how to get back on the bay bridge from the San Francisco side (and if you know the Bridge, you know that the entrances are viciously hidden!) and he can remember like crystal things that happened 20 years ago.<BR/><BR/>But he's not quite dad anymore. <BR/><BR/>Age is so cruel.<BR/><BR/>ITIThttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09605163506396013904noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-27532868795865110802008-12-11T18:48:00.000-05:002008-12-11T18:48:00.000-05:00I work in hospice. Stories like this are common t...I work in hospice. Stories like this are common there, but no less heartbreaking. I wanted to weep when I read this. The long goodbye seems so cruel, yet there are times of joy as you described. Thank you.Lauralewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13899810561123775484noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-48144840664597673282008-12-11T18:47:00.000-05:002008-12-11T18:47:00.000-05:00Our family has been blessed not to have to go thro...Our family has been blessed not to have to go through this so far. But we have watched it in others. Your story was both heartbreaking and encouraging. It's horrible to have to watch someone you love go through this, it's wonderful that she has a supportive family and a caring pastor to comfort her.<BR/><BR/>Now I need to call my mother!Sarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08294206507900224989noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-7265741409969539402008-12-11T18:37:00.000-05:002008-12-11T18:37:00.000-05:00Elizabeth,My mother is deep in this abyss. I can ...Elizabeth,<BR/>My mother is deep in this abyss. I can no longer call her on the phone. She can no longer hear, see or speak. The dementia has attacked the portion of the brain that allows her to use her senses. The wonderful mine of her humor is gone--just the blank stare of aimlessness is there. I know she is in there somewhere. Every once in a while I can tell she has understood what I have said to her. <BR/><BR/>Being so far away from her means that I cannot visit regularly. I am not sure that she will even know me when I visit in Jan. My brother tells me that in a couple of years we will run out of money to keep her in the home that has been her abode for the past 10 years. <BR/><BR/>I am sorry your friend has faded. I know that your call to St. Paul's was a real gift to her and her partner. We are all "glad you came."Muthah+https://www.blogger.com/profile/10589837671378205837noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-21886728622914979642008-12-11T18:11:00.000-05:002008-12-11T18:11:00.000-05:00She is lucky to have you as a High Priestess. Any ...She is lucky to have you as a High Priestess. Any of us would be. My grandmother has Alzheimers. Its a horrible disease that reminds that makes everyone feel so helpless. I cannot see her the way I want to. She is so far away. She doesnt really recognize me even when I do see her. Its hard to see this ambitious and talented woman in this state. Her art room no longer used. Its like walking into some dusty holy place that no one visits anymore.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-37216867046606712852008-12-11T15:03:00.000-05:002008-12-11T15:03:00.000-05:00I had a former roommate, Tom, whose father had Alz...I had a former roommate, Tom, whose father had Alzheimer's. Neither me nor my other roommate, Paul, ever met Tom's dad, but we could see and sense how much pain and anguish it was causing. <BR/><BR/>In the more advanced stages of the disease, he said once,"It looks like dad, sounds like dad, but it's not dad," he said. Very, very sad and tragic.<BR/><BR/>Prayers and blessings for and upon you, her and her partner.the Reverend boyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09606211682028390049noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-84059363336489250322008-12-11T14:29:00.000-05:002008-12-11T14:29:00.000-05:00Thanks to you both, Friar John and Suzanne, for sh...Thanks to you both, Friar John and Suzanne, for sharing your own stories. It's painful to watch, this 'long goodbye'. Knowing that you are not alone in the experience is important.Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-59314001133723459642008-12-11T14:13:00.000-05:002008-12-11T14:13:00.000-05:00Thank you, Elizabeth for this post. Although it b...Thank you, Elizabeth for this post. Although it brought back painful memories of my folks falling into the black abyss, there were the funny times too. I think that was what kept me moving forward, when both of my parents lost the memory of their lives, their bodies remained. My mother had other physical problems and went first, and then Dad not quite a year later. He had forgotten everyone, but he remembered my mother and would ask for her constantly. Many times a day he would ask where she was, and each time he was told she had died, well, it was like the first time.<BR/>A week before he died, I reminded him for the umpteenth time that I was his daughter, and his eyes lit up and he said "Yes, your Suzie", and the fleeting moment of lucidity occured, just as quickly, it was gone, and forever.<BR/><BR/>I have great sympathy for your friend's partner and for you. This must be the most difficult part of sharing your parishoners lives.<BR/><BR/>Bless you and her.suzannehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07680282906301838319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-71879151207941785262008-12-11T11:31:00.000-05:002008-12-11T11:31:00.000-05:00I wish I could say differently, but it only gets w...I wish I could say differently, but it only gets worse. In the end, we lost my Grandfather a year or so before he died. They are allways still in there someplace, and it will shine through.<BR/>Just be prepared for the day she dosn't recognize you.<BR/><BR/>It will hurt.<BR/>You and she are in my prayers.Frair Johnhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03855036304956508405noreply@blogger.com