Caring So Much It Hurts

My dad had dementia for at least 15 years before he passed away in 2002. I did everything I could to not have him live outside our family home. Those years were great memories because he was my father but caring for him with his condition honestly had a mountain of tough and frustrating moments for me. I knew my priority was to keep him safe. I figured out the hours where I could assist him with his meals, have the vacuum accessible so he can vacuum and feel independent, and make sure his worn out playing cards were always on the table where he played solitaire for hours. I had to make sure he didn’t leave the house because my biggest fear was him leaving and forgetting how to get back home. I had to dodge his tantrums that were out of his mind’s control. I had to sit through his hurls of daily dementia-related accusations that I stole his comb on his dresser (uhh, why would I steal a comb?) I hardly had respite from my caretaking experience and so it did wear on me. There were times I felt bad for feeling bad. My turning point was when I finally opened my heart and actually heard what the social worker was telling me for years. It was difficult to hear feedback because I wasn’t in the headspace to do so. The mind can only compute so much in a stressed state. Once I heard “it’s not your dad’s fault he has dementia” my mind lit up. She was right. It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s part of the aging process, the life journey. My mind and perspective lightened up when I finally embraced what she said. She was right: it’s not his fault. If you have ever experienced caring for a loved one with dementia, alzheimers, or any condition that diminishes the capacities of your loved one, I hear you. I see you. I understand you.