The Thief

I've been trying to continue to live my own life, to be a wife, to raise my kids, to do my jobs and yet I can’t deny that the past few months the looming cloud of “my Dad has dementia” has been this sneaky thief slowing taking more than just my Dad from me. These past couple of months have been hard. You know the whole stages of grief thing? When your 8 year old comes to you and says to you, “Mama you’re not happy” it’s a rude awakening to just how much I’ve been avoiding admitting to myself just how sad I am.

My Dad will always be a drummer. I cannot think of my Dad without thinking of his sparkling, blue drum set. For several years through college and after, I played for church service often with my Dad preaching and sometimes playing the drums along with me. Deep down I had this awareness of how important those moments were and what it meant to me, but when you’re in college and starting a life of your own, you don’t necessarily hone in on that – at least I didn’t. He stopped playing; that drum set has been put away. And of course there is this part of me that wishes I could shake my former, younger self and tell her to remember and savor and take in those moments with him.

I have realized how for the past several months I stopped playing too. Literally and figuratively. I have barely touched the piano in months, which if you know me is uncharacteristic of me. (Probably does not bode well for my piano teacher status!) I’ve been meaning to restring my guitar and play. I’ve even thought of taking out my clarinet. Music is a part of me because of my Dad and Mom and it’s just been too dang hard to play because it’s become a reminder of things I’m losing.

But here’s the thing, I’ve been letting dementia win. Dementia isn’t only robbing me and my family of my Dad, I’ve let it rob me of presence/living in the moment with my husband, with my kids, with everyone. It is robbing me of motivation to step out and try something new or make decisions. It’s robbed me of communication with my family. It’s robbed me of my music….

I was listening to someone speak the other day about compartmentalizing when dealing with dementia. I get how that can be dangerous territory because you don’t want to use that as a way to numb and not deal with what is going on. Yet, I totally get how you do have to put some things in their own boxes when dealing with this crummy thing. Because if you don’t, it very well can consume you. I’m not going to lie, I’ve reached a breaking point - a brokenness that is difficult yet necessary in reminding me just how much I need to depend on God. It has been difficult trying to figure out what things are supposed to have my attention right now; it has been difficult trying to help my girls deal with their grief. And that joy I’ve been trying to find has just been harder to find lately.

It has been a period of deep grief and what is crappy is I know there is more to come. Now, I could beat myself up that I’ve been letting dementia win, but if there’s anything to remember from the Easter story it’s this verse from John 10:10.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

Rachel is about to get an earful of guitar and clarinet!