Stuck

I walked out the door this morning, the dog on leash and feeling hopeful for a quiet walk in the woods and a good reset to the week. I came home feeling defeated. Any other day it probably wouldn’t have mattered much. Even now, I know I’ll be able to call the company and they’ll send a replacement or we’ll just have to buy a new one. But I lost the dog collar remote and dang it all if that wasn’t the straw the broke the camel’s back.

I searched for over an hour. Retraced my steps multiple times, kicked away snow, and knelt down near indents in the snow thinking it was where the remote had landed. Debris on the snow just played tricks on my eyes and I’d get this little glimmer of hope only to be let down when I got close enough to see it was a stick or a leaf. (Meanwhile, the dog gleefully running and playing through the woods.)

But to lose something yet again; to be wandering around there in the woods feeling lost, looking for something that was lost, and hoping for something that never came…

So many times the dementia thing has felt like a lonely place. Sometimes it’s lonely feeling like you’re the only one who has yelled at the kids more times than you can count because you were tired after a long day of helping take care of your Dad who can’t remember you anymore. Sometimes it’s hard feeling like you have nothing to bring to a conversation because all you’re thinking about is how you wish you had more time with your Dad. Sometimes it feels hard feeling like you’re the only one who is stuck in this world that revolves around dementia. It makes the losing of things, the wandering around feeling lost, and the hoping for things that don’t come, that much more difficult.

I was reading an article last night written by a woman named Julie Flemming. One line popped out at me and then a paragraph later it was heartbreaking to read as someone else’s experience, yet right away I could say it feels like mine.

“Suddenly everything was in doubt, and I prepared for his final Christmas three years in a row.”

This right here is what life has been like during this season for a couple years. I felt all hopeful and cheery as the season began and yet as Christmas draws near, this is on my mind. Will this be my last Christmas with Dad? What can I do to make this Christmas special for him without treating him like he won’t be here next year? How will it feel when Dad is no longer here for Christmas? These questions don’t exactly make for a holly, jolly Christmas feeling. In fact, it’s just depressing and sucks. She goes on to write,

“The daily losses were the hardest for me to bear, as they came with punishing frequency. I am fortunate that my friends and church family supported me throughout my dad’s dementia journey, but I often chose not to talk about the latest hole in my heart. After all, who wants one teary-eyed visit after another? I became expert at faking a rather convincing smile and laugh, but I withdrew. I once recognized over a rare dinner out with friends that I had nothing to add to the conversation. I felt like the Dementia, Death, and Dying Girl. That loss of self-identity was unexpectedly painful…” (https://www.beingpatient.com/fathers-alzheimers-grief/)

I wandered down there in those woods for over an hour looking, searching. I actually said to God, “Could you please just throw me a freakin' bone here and show me where this remote is?” I told Him I hated him and asked why He wouldn’t just give me a break. I told him I’m so damn sick of losing things and feeling lost. I prayed no one else would be walking on the trails at 9:30 on a Monday because honestly, they would have walked upon a crying woman who appeared to just be wandering and lost.

I was crying for all the daily losses I’ve felt in the past 3-4 years.

I was crying for all the times I fake smile and laugh knowing that hasn’t really felt like me.

I was crying for all the times I feel like the “Dementia, Death, Dying Girl”.

I was crying for all the times I feel these little glimmers of hope only to feel it be blown away in the wind.

(And yes, I was crying simply because I was mad at myself for losing the remote and my relaxing, reset walk felt ruined.)

Yesterday, our Pastor preached about the Christmas doldrums and while it was an encouraging and hopeful message all I could think about was how that’s exactly where I’m at. She referenced the actual doldrums – those places where due to Mother Nature there’s basically no wind, no movement, everything is stagnant. After church someone lightheartedly asked if I was feeling the Christmas doldrums and I put on that smile and gave a fake chuckle and replied in the context of the last minute hustle, the kids being sick etc… But what I really wanted to say was,

“Yes, yes I am. Life just feels stalled out right now; just stuck. Stuck in a kind of waiting that isn’t a hopeful waiting rather a painful goodbye waiting. Stuck in a wandering around feeling lost because I’ve yet to find any sort of direction. Stuck with a loss of hope that leaves me feeling like the wind has just been sucked out of my sails.”

"We don’t often mention the exhaustion that comes with grief or loss or change, but some days it’s flattening—not sad, exactly, but like you’re aching to set down the heavy weight you’ve been dragging for so long." Shauna Niequist

Now believe me, there have still been moments of laughter and joy in my life. But some days I want so badly to set down the heavy weight and stop feeling so stuck. I want to feel like the breath and light and life that Christmas brings. 

Between finally feeling cold and the dog getting ice balls stuck in her paws, I trudged up the (what felt like a mountain) hill feeling defeated. This Christmas has not come with and most likely won’t end with fanfare. I’m doing my best to accept that while it doesn’t really feel like breath and light and life this year, the baby in the manger is hope in the defeat and feeling stuck.