"It’s not that we have to quit this life one day, it’s how many things we have to quit all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, music, the physics of falling leaves, vanilla and jasmine, poppies, smiling, anthills, the color of the sky, coffee and cashmere, literature, sparks and subway trains... If only one could leave this life slowly!"
— Roman Payne
In the vein of doing things outside of one's comfort zone and taking risks, I'm going to do something I do rarely and get a bit personal. And by a bit, I mean a lot.
I saw the quote above yesterday on my google homepage (yes, I'm a nerd and I get daily literary quotes) and it produced a pretty visceral response from me. While lovely in it's prose, it struck a nerve to the point that I actually wanted to talk about it on this forum. I don't know to what extent anyone else has dealt with death and loss, but I do know that not a single one of us is immune to the harsh reality.
I think I have a unique view of loss (or losing someone) in light of my father's condition. Watching someone you love slowly deteriorate is not something I'd wish on anyone. Ever. It's not something I can talk about (or write about) with ease, but I'm beginning to understand the necessity of facing the messy reality and embracing it...pushing thru it rather than letting it control what I do and don't do.
From an outsider's perspective, I've had to watch my father lose things that were important to him slowly but surely. I had to watch the devastation when he could no longer manipulate his hands to play his guitar. I watched as his ability to walk went from short distances, to across the room, to 2 steps to non-existant. I watched him lose his ability to scratch his nose and his ability to feed himself. Most recently, I had to watch as he came to terms with losing the ability to eat at all and I watch as he struggles to keep his ability to speak.
I struggle with the selfish need to want my father around and the task of letting him go. Losing him would be difficult, but we could at least start to heal; a new wound every day is beginning to wear my resolve.
I for one would be relieved at the loss of everything all at once.
4 comments:
Oh my gosh, how brave of you to share this. Death is such an incredibly difficult thing to deal with, especially with a family member. I was talking to D this last week about this, because there was a story in the local news about a man who was in the final stages of Alzheimer's, and his wife carried a photo of them and their marriage certificate with her to try and show him who she was. She hadn't been able to get through to him this one time and he started striking and hitting her to the point where the framed photo became embedded in her chest and she was bleeding and called the police - who arrested the man!! He was in JAIL for a few weeks, when it had made the news, and sparked this big controversy over things like what the procedure should be in cases like this, and David and I were talking about how awful it is to say it, but if either of us ever reached that stage, surely death would be a better option because it is so incredibly hard on the loved ones left behind to see such slow deterioration. Although it feels "wrong" to say that.... I don't know. It's a tough one. Right now my grandma is deteriorating - losing memories, losing balance, she's had several falls and broken both shoulders and knocked herself unconscious several times, and I hate seeing her worsen with every fall. It's so hard when death is prolonged and drawn out - incredibly hard. My thoughts are definitely with you my love.
It's been a process coming to an understanding that wishing for the end of this is not wrong. I've come to a place of acceptance in the past year, but it's still something I struggle with daily.
I take comfort in the fact that even tho his body has failed him, my dad's mind is still intact. His sense of humor has not gone and his resilient spirit is an encouragment. Sometimes I think that all of this is more difficult for my mom, my brother and myself than it is for him.
I can't imagine the pain of someone you love not recognizing you.
Thank you so much for your words of encouragment and for your thoughts; my appreciation far supersedes my ability to express it.
I love you more than words can say. I pray for you on a daily basis.
Thanks for sharing your heart. And thanks for this song title. so good.
ditto, my lovely friend.
I actually always think of you and one of our many conversations whenever I hear this song. It seemed apropos for this post. (c:
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