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The Long and Winding Road…

~ An Alzheimer's Journey and Beyond

The Long and Winding Road…

Category Archives: Kobacker House

Four Years: Remembering 12.15.12

15 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by Ann Napoletan in Advocacy and Awareness, Caregivers, Grieving, Hospice, Kobacker House, Life After Caregiving, Mom, Ruminations, Saying Goodbye

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

alzheimers, alzheimers caregiving, alzheimers grief, dementia, grieving, missing mom

I try to take December 15th off every year; I want to be able to sit with my thoughts and emotions without the rest of the world interrupting.

Four years ago on this date, my mom was freed from Alzheimer’s disease; it was December 15, 2012, that she earned her angel wings after a long, exhausting battle against a disease that always wins.

Memories of that day remain vivid. We were at Kobacker House, a beautiful inpatient hospice facility that cared for us with such compassion when we needed it the most. We knew the end was very near. Never have I been so overwhelmed with competing thoughts:

“God, please, not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye. Please bring us a miracle.”

“God, please take her. She’s ready. She has fought hard and she’s so tired. I know that it’s time. Let her be at peace.”

“God, no. Please, one more day with her.”

“Please, God… take her home. Let her be whole again, free of pain. It’s time.”

By that Saturday, there was nothing left of her earthly shell. Those nine days were the most agonizing of my life.

That morning, I sat next to her bed holding her hand, stroking her head, and telling her how much I loved her. I whispered that it was okay for her to go, we would be fine, and I told her she had been the best mother a daughter could ask for. Her eyes were closed. There’s no way of telling what she could hear or understand. The day before, I felt her squeeze my hand every so lightly when I told her I loved her. I still don’t know if that was real or imagined; I’d like to think it was real.

As the morning wore on, a feeling washed over me – she would be going soon. I called our dear friend, Emily, and left a voice mail asking if she would come and be with us. Emily had worked for my mom many years prior and remained a constant in our lives, visiting Mom weekly long after everyone else had stopped. She is also a woman of deep faith. Jess and I agreed her presence would be comforting for all three of us.

Not long after leaving that message, shortly after noon and still at Mom’s bedside, that feeling enveloped me again – stronger this time. I called across the room to Jess, telling her she should come over. Seconds after she arrived at my side, Mom took her last breath. Her soul was lifted from her physical body right before our eyes in a moment that will remain etched in my mind forever. I’ve never experienced such a spiritual moment.

I had been holding the reins for all those years, and once it was over, I crumbled. The rest of Saturday and the ensuing days were a blur. Carrying all of our belongings to the car, arriving at home and feeling entirely spent. Lost. The grief was so powerful that my body was racked with physical pain.

One would think that after such a long debilitating illness, where we lost a bit of her with every passing day, I would have been prepared. Hadn’t I been grieving for years and years? I really thought when this time came I would feel a sense of relief.

Instead, I was hit hard with the realization that I would never again see her smile, feel her touch, or hear her voice. In my experience, this grief was entirely different than the anticipatory grief I’d been feeling for as long as I could remember. The finality of this was excruciating. I cried for days.

Four years later, the piercing, raw pain of those early days has faded, but in many ways, I miss her more as time passes. There are a million things I wish I could sit down and talk to her about – a decade-plus of things I need to catch her up on – and every year, that list gets longer.

In October, she would have turned 80. I think back on how vibrant she was before AD came into our lives. I always envisioned her as a “young” 80-year-old with a calendar full of travel plans and social activities. I could have never imagined how things would unravel at the seams. The lesson is – we simply don’t know what life has in store for us.

I think our long journey made me a better person in many ways – more compassionate and empathetic, and certainly more committed to serving others for the greater good. Life means more now; I want to be a part of something bigger than myself and I’m determined to leave some sort of legacy behind.

Christmas at Eason House, 2010

As an introvert and empath, it has always been hard for me to exist right at the surface – my thoughts tend to live much deeper in my soul. Following our Alzheimer’s experience, I have less need for idle chitchat and much less tolerance for things that don’t really matter. I suppose I’m more introspective than ever. I’ve never been terribly driven by money and it’s even less important now. I really just yearn for a slower pace and a less stressful lifestyle.

Today, as I reflect on life, love, and loss, I just hope Mom knows how much I love her and that she’s proud of the work I do to honor her legacy. I would love to be able to tell her just how much her story has touched the hearts of others. Her memory lives on and she continues to inspire not just me, but so many others.

 

 

 

 

 

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When Alzheimer’s Steals Christmas

12 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by Ann Napoletan in Grieving, Guilt and Regrets, Holidays, Kobacker House, Life After Caregiving, Mom, Quotes, Ruminations, Saying Goodbye

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

alzheimers, dementia, grief, grieving, holiday grief

Let your tears come. Let them water your soul.
– Eileen Mayhew

“The week” is here.

Two years ago at this time, I was sitting at Mom’s bedside focused on every subtle change in her breathing. The end was days, if not hours, away.

Final Days: The Vigil

Watching a loved one die is a surreal experience. Somewhere in the far reaches of your mind, you have this misguided, nonsensical notion that she’s going to get better. But your logical self knows that isn’t the case. You know that ultimately, you will be packing up her things and leaving this place without her. Just the thought of it leaves you with a knot the size of Texas in your stomach.

One minute, you are quietly talking to God asking Him to take her, praying that her suffering will finally come to an end. And then you find yourself begging Him for just one more day with her.

That last day comes; something is different. You know the end is near. You watch as she takes her final breath, and it’s as though you can feel her soul being lifted toward the Heavens. It’s a moment etched in your memory forever. You’ll replay that last breath in your mind a million times. Even two years later, it feels like just yesterday.

Did she know I was right there with her until the end? Did she know how much I loved her and how sorry I was for those early years when I didn’t handle things as well as I could or should have?

Did she just squeeze my hand? Did she blink? No, that must have been my imagination. Or was it?

All I Want for Christmas Is… My Old Memories

This year, for the first time ever, I decided not to put up the tree. I feel overwhelmed and quite honestly, I’m really looking forward the holidays being over. I know there will be moments of joy, especially with the little ones, but the holidays will never be what they once were.

Christmas at Eason House, 2010

Christmas at Eason House, 2010

I’m angry that we were robbed of so many years. And, I’m sad that I can’t actually remember the last GOOD Christmas we had at Mom’s.

Even now my most vivid memory of Christmas Eve dinner was the last year she cooked and hosted. We were so mired in denial that we tried to go on as if things were fine. But they weren’t fine at all.

Mom was frazzled; preparing the meal was no longer enjoyable for her. It was a strain. She couldn’t get the timing quite right. There wasn’t enough food for everyone. When we sat down for the annual game of penny rummy, she said she didn’t feel like playing. The reality was, she didn’t remember how to play. She had done all these things a million times, but it was clear now that Alzheimer’s was winning. It was the end of an era. And dammit, that’s what I remember about Christmas at Mom’s.

New Traditions

Circa 1988. Mom at age 52.

Last year, realizing how difficult December 15th would be, we decided to do something fun that Mom would have enjoyed. We would make the best of the day and honor her memory. Baking Christmas cookies made the most sense.

Oh how she loved to bake, and her cookie trays always looked just perfect. Thus began a new tradition, “Gram’s Cookie Day.” So, this weekend instead of drowning in tears over what’s been lost, we’ll bake some old favorites. I’ve no doubt she’ll be watching over us to be sure everything is up to her standards. (((smile)))

Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

My mom adored Christmas. She loved the decorations and traditions, loved being in the kitchen baking and cooking, and loved being surrounded by family. She was generous beyond words and it gave her such joy to watch as everyone opened the gifts she had carefully chosen.

I want to love the holidays as much as I used to; as much as Mom did. But, I fear those days may be gone forever. Now it seems the arrival of Thanksgiving is little more than a reminder of 2012.

December 15th will always arrive with a vengeance ten days before Christmas. There’s simply no way around it.

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Caregiver PTSD: Fact or Fiction?

12 Thursday Sep 2013

Posted by Ann Napoletan in Caregivers, End of Life Signs, Grieving, Guilt and Regrets, HomeReach, Hospice, Kobacker House, Life After Caregiving, Mom, Ruminations, Saying Goodbye

≈ 73 Comments

Tags

alzheimers, caregiver ptsd, caregiver stress, death and dying, hospice

 

photo-41Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD):  An anxiety disorder that can occur after an individual has undergone extreme emotional trauma. It is most commonly associated with soldiers returning from war or victims of violent crime, but some experts now believe it can also befall caregivers. In fact, when I saw my doctor shortly after my mother died, it was something she mentioned.

Emotional Upheaval

In a way it sounds crazy; how could the impact of caregiving compare to war or violent crime? Obviously, they are very different, and I don’t think anyone is trying to imply they can be compared. But if you unravel what occurs in a caregiver’s life over many years, it’s reasonable to believe some form of PTSD is certainly within the realm of possibility – perhaps to varying degrees depending upon many factors.

Barry Jacobs is a clinical psychologist and author of The Emotional Survival Guide for Caregivers. Dr. Jacobs notes that many caregivers wrestle with uncontrollable disruptive, distressing thoughts months – and sometimes years – after a loved one has died.

It drives me nuts when well-meaning people say, “focus on the good memories.” (And for the record, I’m certain I’ve said the same thing to others a million times over my 47 years on this earth.) We’d all like to remember only the good times, and I imagine most of us constantly work toward that goal. But when you’ve watched someone suffer through years and years of an agonizing chronic illness, it’s tough to just flip it off like the light switch in the kitchen.

bearDr. Jacobs says, “Many people find themselves unable to stop thinking about the suffering they witnessed, which is so powerfully seared into their brains that they cannot push it away.”

Haunting Memories

My mom died almost 9 months ago, and try as I might there are certain moments that regularly haunt me. Some nights, when I lay down and close my eyes at bedtime, the images are more vivid than I can bear. I just can’t shake it, and the only way sleep will come is with television to distract my thoughts and melatonin to help me drift off.

Sometimes, the images pop into my head without warning – no apparent trigger – but there they are. It’s a vicious cycle; the mental pictures tend to bring forth more unpleasant memories, particularly of the last several weeks of her life. Those thoughts lead to unreasonable worry about things that I couldn’t control at the time and certainly can’t control now.

For instance, in her last few days before going into the hospice facility, I had to administer morphine. Of course I was doing so under the direction of hospice nurses, but it was horrible. She was in so much agony; the morphine was the only thing that brought her peace. I know that. Yet, I still struggle and wonder if there was something I should have done differently.

Defying Logic

An image that is burned into my psyche is that frail, almost unrecognizable woman who, for nine days, occupied the bed in room 16 at Kobacker House. Face sunken in and unresponsive; so thin that at one point, I touched the sheet, wondering what the pointy thing was under there – only to realize it was a hip bone jutting out of her tiny body. I can still see her like it was yesterday, and if that’s not painful enough it’s a visual that never fails evoke memories of the moment she took her last breath.

Something that has bothered me for the past nine months; was I holding her hand at the very moment she crossed over or had I let go? Now what a ridiculous thing to obsess over! Even if I knew the answer, I couldn’t change it, yet I have to consciously remind myself how illogical it is to allow that thought to take up residence in my head!

I don’t doubt some people will read this and wonder why in the world I would put myself through reliving such painful memories, but it’s not a choice. I’ll be honest; I wish I understood it. What I do know is that I watched my mother’s gradual decline for almost a decade; it’s nearly impossible to even remember her BA (before Alzheimer’s).

PTSD or Not, Caregiving Takes Its Toll

Symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder include flashbacks, feelings of anxiety, dread, guilt, apathy, numbness, and depression, but as Dr. Jacobs points out, each of those issues are common in caregivers. It’s really up to a physician to determine whether what you’re experiencing might be a form of PTSD.

Do I think I have it? Probably not. The thoughts and images I’ve described aren’t constantly present; they come and go. But at the end of the day we have to realize that years of witnessing the unthinkable, being forced to make life’s most troubling decisions, never being able to completely settle our racing minds, constantly facing wildly fluctuating ups and downs – all while confronting life’s “normal” daily challenges… it takes a toll.

I remind caregivers all the time they must be gentle with themselves, but the truth is, it’s still something I have to work at everyday. It’s only since my mom’s passing that I’ve realized the need extends well into life after caregiving…

I would love to hear your thoughts on caregiver PTSD, as well as how you’ve dealt with the unwelcome images and memories that come calling at the most unexpected moments.

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Between 2009 and 2015, Marilyn’s Mighty Memory Makers have raised over $22,000 in the fight to #ENDALZ! To all who have supported us, THANK YOU!!

Marilyn, BA (before Alzheimer's)

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