Road of Life

The other night, my kids were extra chatty, talking about everything they remember from Hawaii. I realized how much those years molded them and just how important it was that they had the experience even though it ultimately wasn’t for us. They were somewhat hyper, excited to reminisce about old times—even the difficult ones. Despite the fact that it was my 47th birthday, we decided to hold off on Carvel cake until the weekend. Instead, the kids shared stories of all the thoughts, and dreams, that have raced through their minds over the past few years. It was wild, unexpected, completely off book, and out of routine. I had no choice but to just sit back and marvel at what was happening. Mom, who hasn’t been speechless her whole life, was approaching just that. “I don’t even know half of what they’re talking about” Mom remarked, bewildered by the rapidity with which they spoke. “Neither do I and that’s OK” I said.

As the conversation moved on, I learned that Isaac had discovered an album that musically describes the 7 stages of dementia. This, naturally, led to many questions about Grampy and how he passed, about Alzheimer’s and what it does, and about Auntie Barb and how she is navigating this new murky world. As grief does, the whole conversation hit me like a warm wave that tumbled me over and flipped me upside down—my eyes filled up. I have lost a lot in less than 5 years and have not given myself enough credit for the way my soul has reshaped. Hearing my kids talk about Dad, their Grampy, and how much his decline affected them was humbling and pulled nearer to the surface my constant well of tears. We listened to part of the album together, Isaac narrating what was happening at each juncture. All of this hit just so hard and the fact that it was my birthday emboldened my emotions.

The kids questions about my sister, their aunt, were difficult to answer. Confronting her illness has been hard for all of us, especially for her. When something is slow moving and largely invisible, there’s no easy way to deal with it. Avoidance is one way, denial another, bargaining, anger….All the Kubler Ross stages of grief show up in a scrambled way, not nearly as sequential as one was led to believe in Psychology 101. It’s messy and all over the place. But, that’s life, isn’t it?

Over the past couple days, I have had difficult conversations that have forced me to confront future plans, expectations, goals, possibilities, and likelihoods. I was emotional and overwhelmed. Difficult though they were, these discussions led me to further distill who we, as a family, are and what that will look like moving forward. This distillation process is painful but necessary and can only happen through open dialogue and honesty. For years, I have been on the run, avoiding and evading a lot. Comparison to others has had me stalled, frozen in regret and shame. I can no longer do that and stay sane, I have to machete my own path forward. What that means and what that will look like, I do not know yet. Challenges and fears have revealed exactly what I value in life and these values will be central to any decision made from here on.

Listening to my kids chatter while I wiped away a couple tears the other night made me realize that there is one thing I can be sure of—love of self and family is one of those values. I may not do and provide all the material and physical things that my family would wish for in this world, I can and will, however, continue to care deeply for myself and them, providing the love and support that will help fuel their fiercely independent spirits. In this horribly broken world, that is the most meaningful way I can dream of for us to travel upon this winding road of life.