The 30 Minute Drive
I’ve thought about this a lot the past couple of times I’ve made
the trek to spend a few hours with Dad. In the last year or so, that 30-minute drive to the place I grew up has
become a hard route to travel. This entire journey is hard.
When I drive over, the girls request our “van jam” songs and we talk about hanging out with Grandpa. In my head I'm thinking about how it really sucks that Lydia is at school at she misses out on time with Grandpa and that it really sucks that Bethany is going to be going off to school and she’ll be missing time with Grandpa. I wonder how Dad has changed since the last time we visited? Will he remember my name; will he remember the girls’ names? Will he be upbeat or is he having a down day? I feel so guilty that I don’t/can’t make this trip more often to spend more time with Dad.
I spend time reminding myself that no matter what I’ve done to mentally prepare for the day, I have to throw all expectations out the window and just go with the flow. Because you don’t have 1 certain set of symptoms with dementia. It’s a Jekyll and Hyde gamut of symptoms. So, with an open mind, we spend time with Dad. We walk, we play games, we color, and sometimes we just sit. I’ll casually give “memory prompts” about people, places, things in his childhood and he’ll continue with the story. And I know many of them are accurate because they are stories I’ve heard since I was little. It’s also not perfect. I’m not caring for him 24/7, yet I have moments of feeling frustrated that I have to guide my Dad much in the same way I guide my 4-year-old. I’m learning more and more about just living in the moment.
This last time, Dad was feeling down. While I was trying to talk with and comfort him, he let his head rest back against the chair and whispered, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He tells me he knows things are slipping away; that he feels he's just losing everything. I don’t pretend to know but I would guess one day feels like a lifetime of losing and forgetting for him. It breaks my heart.
All I can say to Dad is “yes, I have no doubt you feel like God has abandoned you.” Then I think about Christ in the garden praying, to the long road to the cross, to some of his final words crying out and wondering why God abandoned him. And for the first time in my life, I realize how the roles have reversed and it’s now my turn to be strong and encouraging for my Dad much like he has been for me my entire life. And it’s because of Christ’s agonizing journey and God's grace that I have a little bit of strength and faith to say “even if you can’t believe, you can hold my hand and know that I am believing for you and for myself that God is holding our hands on this journey.”
Driving home is always harder than the way there. When the girls are with me, they usually fall asleep and there’s this loud silence. Or there are times when it’s just me and the silence is so deafening. Almost too much quiet and time to reflect on the day. Not going to lie, if you were to drive by me and catch a glimpse in the window, often times you’d see tears...
So much guilt that I’m driving away and I can’t be with him more...
Frustration that I got distracted and didn’t enjoy every moment as much as I could have...
And just plain sadness that I’m losing Dad…
Sometimes that 30-minute drive feels about 5 hours…
When I drive over, the girls request our “van jam” songs and we talk about hanging out with Grandpa. In my head I'm thinking about how it really sucks that Lydia is at school at she misses out on time with Grandpa and that it really sucks that Bethany is going to be going off to school and she’ll be missing time with Grandpa. I wonder how Dad has changed since the last time we visited? Will he remember my name; will he remember the girls’ names? Will he be upbeat or is he having a down day? I feel so guilty that I don’t/can’t make this trip more often to spend more time with Dad.
I spend time reminding myself that no matter what I’ve done to mentally prepare for the day, I have to throw all expectations out the window and just go with the flow. Because you don’t have 1 certain set of symptoms with dementia. It’s a Jekyll and Hyde gamut of symptoms. So, with an open mind, we spend time with Dad. We walk, we play games, we color, and sometimes we just sit. I’ll casually give “memory prompts” about people, places, things in his childhood and he’ll continue with the story. And I know many of them are accurate because they are stories I’ve heard since I was little. It’s also not perfect. I’m not caring for him 24/7, yet I have moments of feeling frustrated that I have to guide my Dad much in the same way I guide my 4-year-old. I’m learning more and more about just living in the moment.
This last time, Dad was feeling down. While I was trying to talk with and comfort him, he let his head rest back against the chair and whispered, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He tells me he knows things are slipping away; that he feels he's just losing everything. I don’t pretend to know but I would guess one day feels like a lifetime of losing and forgetting for him. It breaks my heart.
All I can say to Dad is “yes, I have no doubt you feel like God has abandoned you.” Then I think about Christ in the garden praying, to the long road to the cross, to some of his final words crying out and wondering why God abandoned him. And for the first time in my life, I realize how the roles have reversed and it’s now my turn to be strong and encouraging for my Dad much like he has been for me my entire life. And it’s because of Christ’s agonizing journey and God's grace that I have a little bit of strength and faith to say “even if you can’t believe, you can hold my hand and know that I am believing for you and for myself that God is holding our hands on this journey.”
Driving home is always harder than the way there. When the girls are with me, they usually fall asleep and there’s this loud silence. Or there are times when it’s just me and the silence is so deafening. Almost too much quiet and time to reflect on the day. Not going to lie, if you were to drive by me and catch a glimpse in the window, often times you’d see tears...
So much guilt that I’m driving away and I can’t be with him more...
Frustration that I got distracted and didn’t enjoy every moment as much as I could have...
And just plain sadness that I’m losing Dad…
Sometimes that 30-minute drive feels about 5 hours…
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