I have been doing my share
Of grieving lately. I say share
As if it were an apportioned
Amount. A pinch of salt, dash
Of cardamon. Measure your
Grief in a beaker, a basket, by
The pound or a bushel. I do
Not even know what a bushel
Is. There’s the song, “I love you
A bushel and a peck,” it adds”
A hug around […]
Equivocal grief
A poem from the days Burt was still there but also slipping away reminds me of how much grieving happened in advance.
There’s always something to worry over as I recall and that worry wheel will just turn.
It was sometime in 2020, I think, that Burt found going up and down the staircase a fun way to exercise. We encouraged this as a supervised activity. I would accompany him and we’d go down a few flights to catch the elevator at another floor. Or he’d go with his aide.
One day it dawned on me that he might decide to try it on his own. What if he fell in the stairwell. There’s no camera coverage there. The doorman wouldn’t see what was going on, or where he was.
That never happened.
Worry becomes a habit when you become a caregiver. It’s distracting and adds an unnecessary burden. I did my best to stay positive.
I couldn’t stop myself worrying over what ifs like this. This one fit under the behind every blue sky there’s a cloud umbrella.
Everyone seems to have settled on calling this a journey. I get it. Life is a trip we take. It’s a journey we have undertaken and a course that we are set upon to follow. Whither it takes us, we go. Like many others amongst us, our journey took us to unexpected places. Several years […]
Where we are
The journey, our journey together, ended a year and eight months ago. It continues in my memories and in my re-reading the notes that I made along the way.
From this re-blogged post, I recall what it felt like to have Burt know he had dementia. I thought it might be easier if only he understood. And when he did, it was awful. It was selfish of me to think his knowing would make it easier for me. Once he understood, I felt so sorry that he did. I winced when he told people he had dementia.
You know what that means, he asked. He understood, for a while, and was even intrigued. It was such a relief when he no longer knew what that meant.
Memory fades. Not just yours, my dear which was strangely altered and crippled by the dementia with which you suffered. Everyone’s. It, like the hearing of which couples complain, can be selective. Or just inaccurate. It was a gift to me when you recounted so much of your life story to me. Some of it […]
Your story
Just because memory fades
Time accentuates but also
Distorts what we know, how
We felt, the very core of
What we remember, we need
What we wrote down to keep
Us honest and true to our
Memories. You will not be
Able to remember all that
Happened, even if what did
Happen happened to you. I
Have forgotten, I need my
Notes to jog my memory so
I can remember, so I can
Relive, revisit, live anew
What I lived then, what I
Loved then, go back to a
Time I recall without the
Clarity, with the mists
That fogs my memory, what
Was it like to live that
Moment then when that was
A fresh take. In real time
Yesterday is the past, but
I can hold it, just because
I wrote it down. Because my
Memory will fade and wander
This morning, Burt asked me what I was doing yesterday. I said I was in the park with you. “I didn’t see you. Why didn’t you come say hello?” It now occurs to me that Burt is antsy in the park when he doesn’t realize I am with him.
Our outdoor weekend
It’s clear to me that re-reading these blog posts is a way for me to relive my memories.
Self-care includes cutting yourself some slack. Kindness to your loved one, to others, and to yourself will make the journey easier.
It is thanks to Burt that I have so many friends among my neighbors. I mentioned my inability to open my window a few days ago. Today, my friend offered to help with that on this beautiful day.
(You know who you are.) I am very appreciative.
The lesson learned from the above is reach out to ask for help if/when you need it!
It feels odd sharing news of Burt’s death in an email or text. It feels odd having that news to share.
from a February 26, 2025 email
He lived large and well right up to his last few days. Even during 4 years with dementia he found some connection with people, and pleasure in making that connection. His world shrank dramatically in the final days as he seemed to shrink and as he struggled sleeping and breathing but no longer connecting.
On Tuesday morning, he’d had enough and was ready to go.
It is nearly two years since Burt passed. It feels like a very long time ago.
It also feels like it just happened.
Standing by the box office, I realize that this was Burt’s natural habit.
He was always, we were always at the box office. Burt, as I no doubt mentioned, loved getting tickets.
Seeing an older couple approach the booth, I find myself teary eyed. That was us.
Seeing them go to talk to the ticket agent, I miss Burt. I remember that Burt knew the man’s name.
It takes a village. Hillary Clinton on bringing up children but applies as well to how society runs Good neighbors. They have provided continuing support for me. My personal cavalry when, one day, Burt was so agitated about going out to the street that he rammed his walker against a wall. Down he went. A […]
That village
My advice to my friends who are caregiving is to take advantage of any and all the help you can get.
During our journey, I treasured the people who helped with Burt. I still do.
Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
