Expressions of Grief

Just celebrated my birthday yesterday. It felt odd making plans that only included me, and me only. To celebrate I therefore made it a solitary affair. After thinking about inviting people over, as I used to do just to get some visitors in the house for Dean, I nixed the idea and opted for spending the day alone. It just felt so good to stay home, relax my always-tired bones (or maybe I should say lungs), and ignore my "to-do" list.

People have regularly been asking how I'm doing since Dean's passing. That is a really difficult thing to answer. If I say great, am I being callous? If I say not so great, am I being weak? I understand the question is posed by friends who are truly concerned about me and want to convey that they really do care, and I do my best to acknowledge their inquiries and answer the best I can at the time. In truth though, my emotions are rather sketchy these days. Perhaps it's good that they ask, so I can take a little self inventory and make sure I am on the path of mental good health, and not headed for a sinkhole of depression.

Today and a few other times though I was confronted by a different kind of response to Dean's passing. It wasn't in the form of a question, which relieved me of the task of an impromptu self-inspection. This neighbor of mine simply stated how much she missed seeing Dean sitting out on the swing in our front yard, greeting all the passersby with a wave or an invitation to chat. This simple acknowledgement of someone else missing my man really warmed my heart. It validated the many times I have felt a sudden gush of emotion when I remember something about Dean that I miss.

Without realizing it, my neighbor had turned a sympathetic, caring comment into an empathetic, supportive acknowledgment. I must remember her approach when confronted with others in the throes of grief. It was simple enough in practice, but the concept was pure genius.

From now on, I'll not be afraid to address someone's ugly emotions directly. But will let it be known that I feel their pain as well--never exactly, but at least to some extent. As a fellow human, we can only carry someone's load with them, not for them. Only God can lift that burden from their shoulders. But we can reduce its weight by lifting it together.

Keeping Busy

These last few weeks, since Dean's memorial service, have left me feeling rather empty, confused, emotional, and definitely more alone in the world. I have filled it with as much sorting and de-cluttering of my house as my lungs will permit.

This involves re-arranging my living quarters so that I feel more comfortable, like buying a twin bed and turning my office into my bedroom. It's a challenge though to make these kinds of major changes, which I was never permitted to do because of Dean's dementia. I struggle now with wanting to change my surroundings so they are fresh and attractive, but also wanting to keep things just as they always were, this time so I will be reminded of Dean when I see them.

I read in a magazine article today that this kind of de-cluttering might be called "Swedish death cleaning". It's done for the purpose of relieving your loved ones of the frightful task of sorting and tossing your possessions when you are gone. Truth be told, part of my emotional state has probably been from a sinking feeling that with my spouse gone, I am next in line. As I make my decisions of whether or not to keep or toss our belongings, I think of the work I would be leaving my only daughter if I leave too much behind for her.

I'm rather frightened of what my next project will be in life after all this "cleaning" is done. I've spent hours planning Dean's memorial, and now organizing things in the house. It comforting to know that I will always have my writing to fall back on. Well, I say "always", but there are, of course, no guarantees in life.

My life is in God's hands totally. The peace of mind this thought brings helps validate why I'm still here and my husband isn't. I know I will see Dean soon, when Jesus comes in the clouds for both of us. He has not preceded me. He's just resting in peace. In the twinkling of an eye for him, I'll join Dean on that trip to our heavenly home to be with our Lord and Savior forever.

Dean in his twenties--How I'll see him at the resurrection!

"...and every eye shall see Him..." Revelation 1:7

Remembering the Memorial

Nearly a month has gone by since Dean's passing. We just had his memorial service at church this past weekend. We couldn't afford anything but the basic cremation, but I was happy to be able to organize the program myself. It was a soul-searching, emotional ride of trying to condense my husband's life into a mere hour, but I think it came off very well.

It felt good to do this final thing for him. Dean had a legacy of being a Spirit-driven Christian man. I merely wanted to share it with as many people as I could to cap off the life of the man who had captured my heart forty-five years ago. Dementia has a way of hiding our best qualities, but I wanted to flesh out his entire life for those who have only known him since his brain injury.

I know I was blessed by the program, and I hope others were as well. From the visitation that occurred after it was over, I believe it served the purpose I had in mind. Which was not to glorify Dean as a person, but to show what it means to cling to God, despite all the challenges life throws at you.

The speakers, who shared about Dean, all had the same theme of what a blessing he was to so many people. And this was all after his disabling tractor accident 19 years ago. It's just amazing how God can turn our worst tragedies into our greatest blessings, if we will let Him take control of our life and use us to serve others.

I'm not sure I'll have much to blog about now that Dean is gone. But I intend to continue my efforts to support other caregivers. I've always wondered what it would feel like when fate would take the role of caregiver from me. But I now see that caregiving, in any capacity and for any amount of time, makes permanent changes to your heart. I now have more time to contemplate and enhance the work that God has done on my heart through caregiving. I guess, in truth, I'll always be one.

Jesus Is My Boss

It is with utmost sadness and grief that I find myself a former caregiver, as of today. My husband, whom I've seen through multiple life-threatening crises over the years, has finally breathed his last at a care facility that he's been at for over a year now. My daughter and I were with him as much as possible his last day with us. Even though he was unresponsive to our voices and touch, it felt right for us to be by his side.

I'm so glad I saw him just the day before too. We had an unusually good time visiting then. It seemed he was awake and alert longer than I had seen him in quite awhile. One other thing that struck me as a bit strange was that he asked me to wear one of his ball caps. Evidently, he'd been wearing both his old cowboy hat and a ball cap that said "Jesus is my boss" for a few days. Some friends who had been to see him took his picture wearing them.

Why he would give the cap to me, and insist I wear it, was rather puzzling. But it wasn't until the next day when we got the call from his nurses about his rapid decline that I realized that he was trying to tell me something by his gesture. My only "boss" now would be Jesus. He was turning me over to Him.

What a gift from this man I thought I was taking care of for eighteen years. Really, all along he's been taking care of me. The faith in Jesus he encouraged and supported was not only needed to live with him all these years, but it will be the same faith I will need to live without him.

Developing Trust

One would think that after seventeen years of caregiving for my husband at home, I would have mastered the concept of trust. It's rather easy to put your trust in God, however. He's a miracle-worker. His powers cannot be matched. We need Him on our side. And it's relatively easy to call on Him when a crisis happens, or even when the small stuff gets to us.

Recent  happenings, however, have reminded me that I need to call forth my ability to trust in others, outside the realm of deity. Dean has been in long-term care for over a year now, and I'm still finding it difficult to trust those who are now responsible for his care. Even though they have proven time and again to have our best interest at heart and to be totally skilled in knowing how to manage his care, it just isn't easy to turn him over to other caregivers more equipped to handle his ever-growing special needs.

But trust is trust, and knowing how to trust our fellow man is just as important as trusting God. After all, we will be living side by side with each other in heaven. We'd better get this valuable ability mastered if we're going to reside there with fellow believers.

It's more complicated here on this sinful planet, however. But once we've determined that someone is deserving of our trust, then we'd better be able to hand over appropriate control, even if it involves the care of someone we love and cherish.

As Dean struggles with ever-increasing health challenges, I am forced to release him to medical professionals, who can better cope with the kind of care he needs. Of course, the Lord is always there to call on, but I must develop my trust in those immediately addressing his care. It's not an easy task to achieve. But it has shown me that trust is still something I haven't mastered.

A Low-key Christmas

I've been somewhat reluctant to share what my Christmas was like this year. It looked to be such a happy, eventful time, but seems like there was one minor let-down after another as the days surrounding Christmas swiftly came and went.

Of course, the highlight would be having Dean home from the care facility for a couple of days, the longest home visit we've tried so far. And it was, on the whole, everything I expected it to be. Dean slept in his recliner 80% of the time, while I constantly watched the clock for when his next blood sugar check and insulin shot would be. We're talking every four hours, day AND night. Plus I kept busy in the kitchen, trying to ward off his next hunger pangs, which was basically non-stop. I tried to prepare his favorite foods, while making sure his snacks were of the low-calorie, low-sugar variety, while still being soft enough for him to handle with only four teeth. Believe me, it was a challenge.

Our daughter's family came over Christmas Eve for a short time, and it was wonderful opening gifts with them. Even a 7- and a 9-year-old get pumped up when it comes to opening their gifts, so we had a very enjoyable time seeing what everyone in our two families received from each other.

The gift I mailed to my sister in Florida got delayed in transit, and she's still waiting for it to arrive. It's been rather fun calling her every day, to see if it's arrived and finally giving her subtle hints about what it might be.

As you can see, even though the holidays have been a rather low-key, mild affair, we have made the best of them, and sometimes that's all we can do. The real rejoicing will be when we meet the Lord in the air at His Second Coming. Now we can really look forward to that holiday! No disappoints then!!!

Doubting the Caregiver

After returning from prayer meeting, I had two phone messages left from Dean. Both sounded desperate that I would be at the special holiday meal the next day that he'd just heard about. Of course, I had my reservation in quite awhile back and fully intend to eat this Christmas family meal with him at the care center, where he's residing.

This morning (very early, I might add), Dean called me twice again to express concern that I would be at the holiday meal, and that I even knew about it. I reassured him that it has been on my calendar all month, and that I would definitely see him in the afternoon before the meal.

He went on to say that I'm the only reason he hasn't been able to come home. He's so disliking where he's at, and is waiting for me to do something about it. He has stages where, between his brain injury and his "old age" dementia, there is just no reasoning with him about why he can't come home. He doesn't see that his health status has changed. That he CAN'T take care of himself, like he thinks he already does, etc., etc.

Anyway, after our phone conversations, where all I could do was try to reassure him that I love him and was doing all I could to get him "out of there", I got this sudden image of how our prayers must sometimes sound to God. We blame God for the places we're in. We can't understand why He's allowed us to stay on this old, sinful planet for so long. Is He really going to come for us and have that final "marriage supper" with us? And on and on.

God has tried to reason with us through the pages of the Bible, but our finite minds just can't comprehend what's going on behind the celestial scenes. Yes, our minds are in a demented state sometimes when it comes to wanting "out of here". Thank God, He's such a patient Caregiver and allows us our rants and doubting accusations. We must trust Him more and know that He truly does love us and is doing all He can to rescue us from our earthly "prisons".

Especially hard to do when you're in a place like Dean's!