Today, I’m sad. I feel a weight in my chest and a general heaviness in my whole body. I just want to lay my head down, stare at the wall, or go to sleep.
Of course I know why I’m sad. It’s reasonable to be melancholy when you’ve just lost your only sister, your oldest sibling, a person who has been a touchstone in your life. Even if that person has been afflicted with dementia for the past several years, which shifted our relationship profoundly. I am surprised, actually, that I am as bereaved as I am. After all, I grieved over my sister’s deteriorating condition long before her actual death. But here I sit truly mournful.
My cousin told me yesterday that an older man he knew said when his wife died of Alzheimer’s he had to grieve twice – once for the loss of his wife’s mind; a second over the passing away of her physical body. I understand that statement completely; I’ve been there; I’m there now.
Witnessing the demise of a loved one’s mind is alternately confusing, devastating, and funny. My sister with the Ph.D. began having trouble finishing up her paperwork on her cases in her psychology practice, a problem she’d never had before. No one knew why; it was confusing. As time passed and she started getting lost going to familiar places, the realization began sinking in that something was terribly wrong. Medical tests confirmed worst fears – scar tissue from her bike accident so many years back was creating “holes” in her brain. Those “holes” accounted for the memory loss and would multiply over time. That’s when the devastation came in. Then we’d visit or hear stories after we’d all accepted that Leslie’s short –term memory was gone. Like the time she signed for a big bouquet of flowers from my brother for her birthday, put them on the counter, turned around and saw them again and said, “Wow, where did these beautiful flowers come from?” We all still chuckle at that story. Every minute was new for Leslie at that point in her life.
So, why, when her condition took a sudden, downward turn resulting in speedy death, am I reeling? I believe it was the quickness of her physical demise. The whole family had accepted Leslie might not die for several years, particularly with her habit of incessant walking. But a recent fall shifted everything suddenly. She went from walking and smiling and telling people in the nursing home how beautiful they were one day, to a semi-comatose state the next, to dead, all within a week’s time.
When we asked the hospice nurse about this, he spent two very patient hours explaining how this can happen. That Leslie’s brain deterioration meant that her body systems were also deteriorating and that he’d seen these quick shifts happen, not necessarily often, but certainly with regularity. We could, in fact, look at this as a blessing since the rest of the trip was not going to be a particularly dignified or happy one. And we all nodded and said, “Of course, she (and we) would prefer it this way. It’s just such a shock.”
So, that accounts for at least a part of my sadness. I am still in shock. My husband and I had planned the trip to Salt Lake City two months ago. My fear when I got on the plane was that Leslie might not remember me. I didn’t know I was walking into a deathwatch.
Alas, I was and, as it turned out, it was a sweet, bonding time for our family. We gathered in my sister’s hospital room where she lay prone on the bed and we rubbed her hands, kissed her cheeks, tickled her feet, and sat together for hours, telling stories and laughing. I know she was happy. She said just two years ago when she came to Thanksgiving here in LA at our home, “I am just so glad to be with all of you.” And she was for five solid days. We hardly left her bedside unless relieved by friends who needed their time with Leslie, as well.
I feel better writing all of this. I can now see why I am so sad. I didn’t have time to prepare, to settle into the dying process. This all happened so fast; even though the demise has been slow.
I can breathe deeper now. I see that this is just another method of dying. I have lost three other siblings, a sister-in-law, my parents, and in-laws, and my best friend over the past several years, but with each one, I had time to prepare. – to talk to them while they were still fully conscious, and I could slowly get ready for their train to Glory.
I know my sister is happy. I know she’s in a better place. I know her death is merciful. I also know it is right and good for me to grieve. After all, I loved her deeply.
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