I made a commitment yesterday to blog today regardless of how nonsensical it may come out.
In the past couple of weeks since I’ve been back from visiting my mother, my world has been filled with a depression I can’t seem to shake. It’s become harder and harder to see my family, knowing that this could be the last time I see any one of them.
The sadness of visiting my mother in the memory care is unspeakable. I keep thinking about a man who just moved in on the day I arrived. He was very articulate and charming, and I wondered what he was doing there. Upon conversing with him, though, it was plain to see that his mind was confused. He was in good spirits, and he greeted me heartily, as if we were good friends. He must have been about 55-60 years old, quite young compared to the other residents. But he had a rapidly deteriorating case of Alzheimer’s, or some sort of brain injury. Over the next few days, I saw him go from fairly curious and active to unresponsive and give-a-shitless.
What must it be like, I wonder, to wake up one day and realize your family has put you in a cage with a bunch of old and disabled people who have lost their desire to even attempt communicating, much less live.
As the staff lets us in and out of the home, there are always one or two residents standing right at the door waiting to be freed — maybe thinking, “Okay, now it’s time to go home,” but never understanding that they will never ever go home again.
Even a visit to the local McDonald’s means getting a family member to care enough to do this excursion with you, the resident. Even though McDonald’s is only a block away, the process of getting everything ready and essentials packed, transporting, feeding, and then transporting back is a full morning or afternoon’s activity. The staff doesn’t do these excursions, so you’re SOL if you have no friends or family that have the love, patience, and time to do this with you.
I look back on my life and wonder, “Was it my life that was screwed up, or was it the world that I was brought into?” I don’t know.
My recovery is slow, because I’m overwhelmed with processing everything and trying to make meaning out of it.
I know I should begin meditating again. I have insisted that I continue to do my yoga so that at least I’m doing the minimal activities lest my chronic pain issues rear up and make things worse. Getting meditation back in my life will help a huge amount. Ativan and pot are at least keeping me out of bed, active, and concentrating on eating well while I wait for my mind to snap out of this depression.
But for now I’m stuck in my emotional rut.