Keeping Busy

One way I stay grounded is by keeping busy. I take classes at OLLI, including water aerobics, yoga, cribbage, canasta, and cooking. I also take piano lessons and meet with my writer friends once a week to write. Now that I have my new apartment with space for crafting, I’ve started working on art projects again. I also enjoy going out with friends to the symphony, plays, shopping, and other local events.  

 

You’d think with all this activity, I wouldn’t have time to feel sad—but I do.  

 

I love my classes. I cherish time with my friends. I thrive on the busy-ness, but it doesn’t quiet the longing in my heart—for someone to love, to share life with, to be a couple again.  

 

Yesterday, I started reading “One Woman’s Men: Fathers, Brother, Friends, and Lovers” by Sharon Goodwin. The description on Amazon captures it perfectly:  

 

"Each verse tells a story of love, loss, and longing—celebrating the nurturing bond with her father, the shared memories of her brother, and the fleeting yet profound connections with friends and lovers. With unflinching honesty and raw emotion, Sharon captures what it means to be a daughter, sister, friend, and lover, embracing both the beauty and the heartache of these relationships with striking clarity and innocence."  

As I read these poems, I’m struck by how much we, as “widows in waiting,” have in common with those who live with a chronic disease. For those of you following my blog and navigating the emotional complexities of being alone but not alone, I highly recommend this book. It won’t fix anything, but it reminded me that I’m not truly alone—I have sisters out there who understand.  

More complaining . . .

I'm going to talk to my therapist tomorrow about dating. I am so tired of being alone. I've been taking care of my husband since 2008; he's been in care home for 2 years. I just want to have a boyfriend. Is that so wrong? I want to go out and enjoy times with a guy, not just as friends, but as potential partners. But how is that even possible when I'm married? I feel like Heathcliff in Charlotte Bronte's Wuthering Heights! I probably won't do anything about this, but it's fun to pretend I will! At least when I'm done crying about it.

I did get on a dating site, but never did anything with it. Such is the life of a long-time caregiver . . .

Later: I did some analyzing of why I feel this way. Here why:

• I want a partner that I can depend on - someone who will be there when I need them and I can be there for them

• I want someone who I can call mine -we’re a team, a couple

• I want to go out on a date with them and feel good about going out - tell the world I’m going out and not feel awful about it

• I want someone I can call anytime and chat

• I don’t want a live-in arrangement

• I don’t want to remarry

• I may want some affection and to give affection - TBD

After reading my reasons, I see there is no way to fulfill all of them. The truth of the matter is that I'm trapped. I don't resent my husband for this; but I resent societal pressures that make me feel that I cannot do this with a clear conscience. At least at this time of my life. . .

Baffled . . .

Today has been a bizarre and emotionally stressful day. If you’ve stumbled upon this post, feel free to skip it. I’m only writing it to process everything swimming around in my head. 

It began with my drive up to Houston to see Bill, this time in a rental car. Some “wonderful” person back at my previous apt. decided to key the whole left side of my car, leaving gouges deep enough to rust. I couldn’t ignore them, so off it went to a body shop, and USAA set me up with a rental car to use in the meantime. 

 

When I got to Houston, I found Bill more talkative than he’s been the last few visits. While he still asks the same few questions every 15 minutes or so, I was happy to see he was more alert. His mind, however, was rooted in the 60’s and 70’s, asking about doctors and dentists who passed away decades ago. As usual, he asked about Wil and Shelly and our animals; sometimes using their names, sometimes not. But then things got a little bizarre. 

 

For the past few weeks, he’s been asking about a 3^rd and sometimes a 4^th child. “The ones we recently found,” he says. I always say they’re ok, hoping he’ll move on; but today, he was fixated. He doesn’t remember their names, who their mother is, where they live, or much of anything else other than he thinks it might have happened when we were having a rough patch in our marriage in the 70s.  

 

Then he very looked at me very seriously and said, “I need you to do something for me. I want to have a meeting, maybe go out to dinner with you, Wil and Shelly, and the other kids I must have had when I was messed up. I want to apologize to all of them for being a terrible dad.”  

 

After a moment of silence, I agreed, again hoping the topic would change, but it continued to circle back until I got a phone call from my car rental saying my car was due back today. USAA was only paying until today, but my repairs won’t be finished for another week. Of course, when I tried to call USAA, all I could get was automated robots or an answering machine that promised the correct person would “get back to me within 24 hours.” I decided to go home. Too much drama. 

 

On the drive back, my mind kept spinning around this idea of “other kids.” Could Bill really have kids I don’t know about? Why is it coming out now? Did they contact him? How? What am I supposed to do with this information? Do I even want to know? Not really. 

 

Or is it all in his imagination – something stirred up by a story from a fellow resident? I mean, he did claim to be an explosive expert a few weeks ago, so there’s that!  

 

It’s all baffling and a bit unsettling . . . 

On a More Positive Note . . .

On a more positive note, I have begun to do some crafting again in my beautiful new apartment. I now have a room JUST for crafting! It's glorious! 

Last week, I made a birthday card for, Debbie, my friend who loves birds. It turned out perfect! 

Now, I'm working on two more birthday cards. A lot of birthdays this month! 

It feels good to be creative AND to have a place to be creative in! Here's the view I have from my window! 

You can see the pool - they just filled it in yesterday! There's also a pickleball court, a cookout area, and a fire pit area. I can't wait until they open it up! 

Where's Bill?

Remember the 'Where's Wally?' puzzle the kids used to play? That's how it feels when I'm with Bill - it's like I'm searching for pieces of him in a maze of confusion. 

Bill is getting more distant, more confused, and less aware that I am with him. The conversation, today, consisted of four questions he repeated over and over again. How are you? How are the kids? How are the animals? How are the other kids? He keeps insisting we have more children than we have! Today, he thought we had four. 

After I tell him that I’m fine, Oreo is fine, and ALL of the “four” kids are fine, he drifts off for a while. Then, the same questions return, over and over and over again. This repetition is not new, but that fact that he has no other interest in any other topic is new.

 

I tried to take him for a walk around the complex; but, as soon as we got out of the locked unit, he suddenly needed the bathroom. I can't handle him myself, so I had to take him back and get help. After that, we just stayed in his POD. I had a meeting with the medical staff where they give me an update on his treatment, medication, etc. There’s nothing they can do other than try to keep him comfortable. 

Today was too depressing to stay very long. I stayed for a two hours, then left.  

 

I used to enjoy these visits, taking him out for a drive or a meal, even if he was confused. At least he was present, aware of his surroundings, curious. These last two weeks have been different. It’s like he’s no longer there. His spark is gone. The voice is still familiar, but the man I knew is slipping further away each and every day. I hate this disease. . . 

Great News!

 

Wallowing . . .

Why is it that I can keep myself so busy, yet feel so profoundly lonely? My therapist encouraged me today, "Stay busy. Do things for yourself. Live your life." And I do, but there's still this hollow ache inside, a nagging voice that whispers, “You’re all by yourself. You have no one. You’re lonely.” 

Am I wallowing in self-pity? It definitely appears that way, at times. After all, I have so much to be thankful for that other caregivers do not. I have children who care about me, a network of wonderful friends who encourage me, and the luxury of time to care for myself; to keep myself healthy, physically fit, and mentally alert. Financially, I’m comfortable. There’s no bill collector at my door. I have everything I need and more. And my every waking hour isn’t devoted to my husband’s needs. Someone else is taking care of him. I only get to do the “fun” stuff. Yet, whenever I come home at the end of the day, after a whirlwind of activity, I feel this unmistakable slump.

 

My home greets me with silence; the kind of silence that presses down like an iron pillow. Suffocating the "light" out of me. There are no sounds echoing between my four walls, but my own voice as I catch myself talking to Oreo, or even to myself, hoping to fill the empty space. The only footsteps I hear are mine, as I wander from room to room, listening to the tap, tap, tap of my steps on the white pine floor. Perhaps if I walk long enough, I'll convince myself I’m not alone.

 

I wish I could explain these feelings, even to myself. It doesn’t make sense, especially after a full day. I’ve been to breakfast with friends, spent time writing with friends, and even laughed with friends over a game of pinocle. I came home, took Oreo over to the park for a long, brisk walk, and snacked on sharp cheese and fresh grapes. Good friends, good food, and good exercise. What could be missing?

It's been nearly two years since Bill moved into a care home, and "Father Time" continues to tick by, both quickly and slowly, all at once. But the feeling of loneliness lingers on. It’s like I’m waiting . . . but waiting for what? Am I waiting for news that he’s improved? That’s unrealistic. Am I waiting to hear that he’s had a good day? That’s always good news. Or am I waiting to hear that’s he’s declined and only has a short time left? Could I be so callous that I’m willing to rush the inevitable just so I can move on. The thought definitely lurks in the background of my mind, if I’m honest. And that makes me feel terrible.

 

This cycle of emotions I ride every day is exhausting. It’s like an elevator ride from the basement to the 105^thfloor, then back down again, over and over. Mostly I live somewhere in between, but the ups and downs wear me out. I’m so tired of it all. I want it to end. I want the lonely to go away. . . 

 

I shake myself off, tell myself to “put on my big girl panties,” and keep plugging away. "I do have a good life. I’m not really lonely. It's only in my head," I tell myself. "I can do this, can’t I?" 

My rational mind answers, "Yes, you can, because you have no choice. . .  That's the harsh reality of this disease called, Dementia."