If you have not read Kathy Ritchie's blog on her experience coping with her mother's declining health after her diagnosis in 2010 with frontotemporal dementia, you should! It is a riveting example of the difficulties encountered when a relative forgets those closest to their heart. Kathy talks about the shock of learning about her mother's diagnosis and the decline in her memory and outbursts in church. For Kathy, her mother's death in 2014 felt swift and yet drawn out. All she wanted for her mother was peace, but yet it was a hard realization to let go. In a sense, death was the right answer, because her mother was not the same person Kathy had known, yet Kathy talks about how she misses her previous mother. The mother that bore her. The mother that raised her. The mother that loved her. However, the loss of the mother she spent those four years feeding, bathing, and dressing was not difficult.
After reading about the frustrations in reversing roles and caring for a person who doesn't even remember your name, I began thinking how hard the role of a caregiver really is. For health care practitioners, you see the client and then move on. For family caregivers, that is your life and you never clock out. While every caregiver is not a relative, the responsibility over a loved one's health in one way or another falls on the shoulders of the family. Deciding on treatment options, living situations, and everyday schedules is a whole new and frustrating task. The old adage that you must make sure you are prioritizing your health before you can care for others is a striking reality. Not only did Kathy have to parent her own toddler, but also her mother. In her story, she compares the messes her child makes with her mother's. Cleaning up after a toddler's mess is expected, but a mother's -- especially one you don't even know anymore?
This blog meant a lot to my own personal story because both my great-grandmother and grandmother had dementia. I don't know if they had a specific type, but I do know my great-grandmother was very confused before she died. My family teases me because my great-grandmother never understood I was a little girl. She would always call me a cute little boy -- even when I had a pink bow adorning my head! Unfortunately, my great-grandmother died pretty soon after I was born, but I did have the opportunity to spend time with my grandmother. Looking back, she never really showed her memory was digressing (or at least any more than you would expect to come with old age), but I do remember her losing her drive to live. I don't know if that was dementia-related or if there were other factors, but this was especially evident when she had a stroke in 2012. She lived for about a month afterward, but you could tell she didn't know who we were. It was very difficult to say goodbye, but we also knew she wasn't willing to try.
A recurring, and ironic, reality for myself when reading Kathy's posts is that she is not a Christian and views her mother's death with the hope that her mother will one day be in heaven. Even though she looks at God as insensitive in his seemingly slow claim of her life she believes that when her mother's end comes, she will be in a better place. Death is the goal. For myself, a Christian, death in my grandmother's case was a scary reality. I did not, and still do not know, if she was a Christian. In my case, my grandmother's death could either be a source of hope or one of anguish -- and honestly I won't know the answer until my time comes. My main condolence throughout this situation is that my grandfather's relationship with my mom became stronger, and he now comes to church with us. Losing a family member is never easy, but grieving and looking at the beauty of the situation is how to cope. I miss my grandmother, but I'm thankful my grandfather is more involved in my mother's life. Death is momentary, but family is forever.
Ritchie, K. My Demented Mom [Blog post]. Retrieved from https://mydementedmom.com/author/katmritchie/
After reading about the frustrations in reversing roles and caring for a person who doesn't even remember your name, I began thinking how hard the role of a caregiver really is. For health care practitioners, you see the client and then move on. For family caregivers, that is your life and you never clock out. While every caregiver is not a relative, the responsibility over a loved one's health in one way or another falls on the shoulders of the family. Deciding on treatment options, living situations, and everyday schedules is a whole new and frustrating task. The old adage that you must make sure you are prioritizing your health before you can care for others is a striking reality. Not only did Kathy have to parent her own toddler, but also her mother. In her story, she compares the messes her child makes with her mother's. Cleaning up after a toddler's mess is expected, but a mother's -- especially one you don't even know anymore?
This blog meant a lot to my own personal story because both my great-grandmother and grandmother had dementia. I don't know if they had a specific type, but I do know my great-grandmother was very confused before she died. My family teases me because my great-grandmother never understood I was a little girl. She would always call me a cute little boy -- even when I had a pink bow adorning my head! Unfortunately, my great-grandmother died pretty soon after I was born, but I did have the opportunity to spend time with my grandmother. Looking back, she never really showed her memory was digressing (or at least any more than you would expect to come with old age), but I do remember her losing her drive to live. I don't know if that was dementia-related or if there were other factors, but this was especially evident when she had a stroke in 2012. She lived for about a month afterward, but you could tell she didn't know who we were. It was very difficult to say goodbye, but we also knew she wasn't willing to try.
A recurring, and ironic, reality for myself when reading Kathy's posts is that she is not a Christian and views her mother's death with the hope that her mother will one day be in heaven. Even though she looks at God as insensitive in his seemingly slow claim of her life she believes that when her mother's end comes, she will be in a better place. Death is the goal. For myself, a Christian, death in my grandmother's case was a scary reality. I did not, and still do not know, if she was a Christian. In my case, my grandmother's death could either be a source of hope or one of anguish -- and honestly I won't know the answer until my time comes. My main condolence throughout this situation is that my grandfather's relationship with my mom became stronger, and he now comes to church with us. Losing a family member is never easy, but grieving and looking at the beauty of the situation is how to cope. I miss my grandmother, but I'm thankful my grandfather is more involved in my mother's life. Death is momentary, but family is forever.
Ritchie, K. My Demented Mom [Blog post]. Retrieved from https://mydementedmom.com/author/katmritchie/
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