The Beginning of the Ending
This blog post was first published on meglynchwriter.wordpress.com on November 16, 2018.
He is always in pain now.
He’s starting to refuse to eat or drink or take his meds sometimes, which only ever makes him feel so much worse.
He’s seeing people in the room who aren’t there, and he is terrified they are going to hurt him…all hours of the day and night.
He can barely stand on his own, either; he needs so much more help just to do daily activities (unless the dementia works him up to be angry enough to attack us, in which case, he stays in his chair until he slides onto the floor).
He is less and less…with us with every passing day. He just doesn’t want this life he’s been given anymore. At the same time, though, he doesn’t want to let go of it, either.
If only Parkinson’s wasn’t a thing.
Mom and I prayed and prayed that he would make it to Mike and Cassie’s wedding. He did, and I am so proud of us for getting him there and back in one piece.
But it was so. damn. hard. It took so much out of us, dad included…and he’s been on a fast track, spiraling downward, ever since. Lewy body dementia has smacked him like a chair over his back, and dad’s one goal is to take down the person who did the smacking…only there isn’t a person to blame for it, and he only seems to zero in on the people who are trying to help him.
Last week was the absolute worst. Thankfully, this week is a lot better. Instead of whining and freaking out all day long, it’s mostly at night that dad’s fear and anxiety get the best of him.
I think, at this point, I’m just praying for God to have mercy and take him away. It sure feels like the end of it to me. I can’t imagine this stretching out for years longer…maybe a few, grueling months at the most.
You see, dad HATES everything about his life, that he can’t eat, sleep, or even poop on his own… He hates it all regardless of the people who are fighting for him every day and taking such good care of him. Half the time, he can’t even tell who we are or what we’re doing. He doesn’t understand that our plans are for his good and not for bad. Hallucinations constantly barrage him with lies; his body reiterates those lies by keeping him down for the count.
He is a fighter, but how long can he keep up this fight?
If Parkinson’s has taught me nothing else, it’s that there is beauty to be found in the small moments. When someone you love has an increasing amount of bad days, they make you appreciate the good ones even more. Dad still has moments of laughter, and we thank God for that every day. He still gets himself up and out for church every Sunday, puts on a brave face, and we thank God for his ability to do that. He has a helper-friend who comes four days a week and gets him cleaned and feeling a bit better; we thank God for Sylvia, too.
We also thank God for Himself; we’d be nowhere without Him. I wrote in my journal last week, “There are times I find more to give when I think I have nothing left. God somehow always sees me through to the next moment.” In every moment of every day, the Holy Spirit is right beside us, strengthening us for the here-and-now and the coming-up-next, breathing peace into every corner of our house, in the midst of the chaos and turmoil that Parkinson’s brings.
In the middle of it all, He makes us increasingly able to care for a person who is increasingly less grateful for it. I know it’s hard right now, seemingly unbearable, but I know we will be better humans for it later.
And thank God for that.
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Since most people have no clue what Parkinson’s really is, it isn’t just tremors. Here’s a helpful graphic that might help you understand some of what’s going on right now (I have no idea who made it, but it works):
