Julie, this resonated with me deeply. With my Mom in memory care now, the dementia has made her quieter and dare I say, gentler too, but the other day a harsh critique of comparison with a sibling (often a part of the old relational dynamic) came in the form of a gushing compliment of the “long lovely visits” the other sibling gives her. I firmly stopped her and felt the need to correct, by reminding, their visits may be so long and lovely but my devotion to you includes shopping and Dr. appointments, bill paying and numerous Dr. or facility calls, and communicating with friends and family since you no longer write or answer your phone, and tending the plants you so love, plus delivering every item requested, and visiting multiple times weekly —even if shorter visits than the other - I do so much. And she simply said, “I know.”
I went home that day and was not interested in tending to another thing, or another person. I took a pause. A pause whether for grief or overwhelm or for a moment to reframe, a pause is necessary sometimes.
I loved reading of your devotion to both your mother and your plants, especially that bitchy orchid but maybe it’s your book that needs the tending now. Maybe the words need planting on the pages both for you and for the many readers and followers, like me, who are nurtured and supported by your writing and sharing.
Thank you!
In the last months of your mom’s journey, I found your Instagram. Your posts accompanied and comforted me as my mother was diagnosed with dementia and more. Your words and your honesty are truly a gift. It is a different time now.
I will watch, listen and read with great admiration and gratitude.
I don't know whether to say i'm glad or i'm sorry. let me know if you want to say more - you can email me privately (me@lythcott-haims.com) if that's better. big hugs!
Hey, I really appreciate that you shared all that. So sorry you went through it, too. Sending you big hugs for that day when you had to come home and just take a pause come and all the other days that were hard. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one. I'm not proud of the times I lost it, but I know that those times make me a human. It is hard to be the family member doing almost everything.
Also, really appreciate your kind words about my writing. Trying to serve and support others the best way I know how. Always wonderful when someone like you picks up the phone says and says "you reached me." 🥰
This piece made me so sad, Julie. I knew your mom so long ago, and feel like I know you. I have no doubt about the depth of your connection and love for each other. Her best self (and none of us are that all the time) would not want you to EVER feel you hadn't done enough. Ever.
In my own life, plants are living and fickle beings. Way too often they shrivel in my care, except for succulents, who luckily thrive in my SoCal life whether I ignore them or not. They seem to follow that old cliche, If you love something (someone) let it go.
Thank you for reading it and for your very kind and thoughtful reflection, Rachel. I am always trying to take good care to tell my own truth without imputing any intent to mom. We certainly knew each other longer and more fiercely than ever would've been the case had she not moved out here. We did work to improve our relationship that would not have been possible as she stayed back east. I know we're both grateful for that. even if we didn't get as much growth as was theoretically available, we grew a lot as mother and daughter. That is something I know for sure.
Dementia and Alzheimer's are the diseases that rob us over and over again of our loved one. Then there are the zingers that take us right back to being the child that was "ungrateful" or "never did enough" and they make the stoutest of caregiving children cry out and cry. I'm sorry you experienced that in your mom's journey; her heart knew your love and care and her on-the-fritz-brain could not express that.
Think about the people who or a purpose that have entered your life at "just the right time" and assign that to your plants (and kudos for getting an orchid to rebloom as I've seen only leaves for years). They were there at just the right time and they helped you and you helped them and you both got through a difficult situation - and now they are in your background. Just as you smile about a friend you know from years ago you will smile about your orchid. Letting them go is smart (note my "only leaves" and my inability to let go) and a step toward letting the grief be less of a burden to you future. Grief never lets go completely just as love stays with us for eternity and letting it fade allows for your genuine and gracious life carry on for what is next. Writing is taking place of indoor gardening.
Thank you for sharing a story I can relate to and, from this distance, still cringe about, but can carry on knowing my reaction was deep seeded and mine, not intentional from the elders I had the honor of caring for. You are not alone.
Julie, this resonated with me deeply. With my Mom in memory care now, the dementia has made her quieter and dare I say, gentler too, but the other day a harsh critique of comparison with a sibling (often a part of the old relational dynamic) came in the form of a gushing compliment of the “long lovely visits” the other sibling gives her. I firmly stopped her and felt the need to correct, by reminding, their visits may be so long and lovely but my devotion to you includes shopping and Dr. appointments, bill paying and numerous Dr. or facility calls, and communicating with friends and family since you no longer write or answer your phone, and tending the plants you so love, plus delivering every item requested, and visiting multiple times weekly —even if shorter visits than the other - I do so much. And she simply said, “I know.”
I went home that day and was not interested in tending to another thing, or another person. I took a pause. A pause whether for grief or overwhelm or for a moment to reframe, a pause is necessary sometimes.
I loved reading of your devotion to both your mother and your plants, especially that bitchy orchid but maybe it’s your book that needs the tending now. Maybe the words need planting on the pages both for you and for the many readers and followers, like me, who are nurtured and supported by your writing and sharing.
Thank you!
In the last months of your mom’s journey, I found your Instagram. Your posts accompanied and comforted me as my mother was diagnosed with dementia and more. Your words and your honesty are truly a gift. It is a different time now.
I will watch, listen and read with great admiration and gratitude.
I don't know whether to say i'm glad or i'm sorry. let me know if you want to say more - you can email me privately (me@lythcott-haims.com) if that's better. big hugs!
Julie, no apologies ever needed. I edited to complete my post. My too small phone screen and oversized fingertips lol hit the send arrow prematurely.
Hey, I really appreciate that you shared all that. So sorry you went through it, too. Sending you big hugs for that day when you had to come home and just take a pause come and all the other days that were hard. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one. I'm not proud of the times I lost it, but I know that those times make me a human. It is hard to be the family member doing almost everything.
Also, really appreciate your kind words about my writing. Trying to serve and support others the best way I know how. Always wonderful when someone like you picks up the phone says and says "you reached me." 🥰
This piece made me so sad, Julie. I knew your mom so long ago, and feel like I know you. I have no doubt about the depth of your connection and love for each other. Her best self (and none of us are that all the time) would not want you to EVER feel you hadn't done enough. Ever.
In my own life, plants are living and fickle beings. Way too often they shrivel in my care, except for succulents, who luckily thrive in my SoCal life whether I ignore them or not. They seem to follow that old cliche, If you love something (someone) let it go.
Sending comfort ...
Rachel
Thank you for reading it and for your very kind and thoughtful reflection, Rachel. I am always trying to take good care to tell my own truth without imputing any intent to mom. We certainly knew each other longer and more fiercely than ever would've been the case had she not moved out here. We did work to improve our relationship that would not have been possible as she stayed back east. I know we're both grateful for that. even if we didn't get as much growth as was theoretically available, we grew a lot as mother and daughter. That is something I know for sure.
Dementia and Alzheimer's are the diseases that rob us over and over again of our loved one. Then there are the zingers that take us right back to being the child that was "ungrateful" or "never did enough" and they make the stoutest of caregiving children cry out and cry. I'm sorry you experienced that in your mom's journey; her heart knew your love and care and her on-the-fritz-brain could not express that.
Think about the people who or a purpose that have entered your life at "just the right time" and assign that to your plants (and kudos for getting an orchid to rebloom as I've seen only leaves for years). They were there at just the right time and they helped you and you helped them and you both got through a difficult situation - and now they are in your background. Just as you smile about a friend you know from years ago you will smile about your orchid. Letting them go is smart (note my "only leaves" and my inability to let go) and a step toward letting the grief be less of a burden to you future. Grief never lets go completely just as love stays with us for eternity and letting it fade allows for your genuine and gracious life carry on for what is next. Writing is taking place of indoor gardening.
Thank you for sharing a story I can relate to and, from this distance, still cringe about, but can carry on knowing my reaction was deep seeded and mine, not intentional from the elders I had the honor of caring for. You are not alone.
Thanks Mary. Lots to say. Not in public.