My Story

melvina30

I've been reading for more that 4 years but very seldom speak up and never personally. I'm ready to tell me story. My husband of almost 54 years was diagnosed in August 2019 with mixed dementia (vascular and Alzheimer's). I have taken care of him and he has been relatively easy to care for in comparing your stories. But there was no communication between us left and we live rurally. I made the hardest decision in my life to place him in memory care and did that the 12th of this month. A beautiful small facility that just opened last November. On the 18th, I had him transported to the ER where he tested positive for covid. Three nights in the hospital and I was required to stay with him and that resulted with me getting covid. He is back in MC but covid kicked his butt. He has pneumonia and his body is shutting down. Cannot drink or eat. Bedbound. He was put on hospice the day after discharge. They have been given him medication for sleeping and tonight started morphine to relax his fight with breathing. They don't expect him to make it through the week. My husband has been my partner since I was 16 years old. My heart is breaking.

I would like to share the poem that my 20 year old granddaughter wrote for her grandpa since this all has happened. I will use this as his service along with military honors that he earned by fighting in both Viet Nam and Desert Storm.

When you’re young, you think everyone’s

invincible.

You know what death is,

sure, but only from afar, from a place

that only ever exists in the future. 

Your grandpa,

so tall and strong and funny,

well, he’s

immortal. 

You see him

out in the shop, tinkering

with his tools,

on the four wheeler, crashing

through the underbrush,

behind the wheel of the motorhome, driving

across the country.

You see this man,

this figure, that seems so

indestructible,

you tell yourself he is, that 

death,

old age,

can’t possibly touch him, 

because you’re young,

and you don’t know any better.

When you grow up, all that

changes. 

You know death,

you’ve seen death. 

But that doesn’t make it 

Any easier.

You can see the signs, the little things

that indicate age.

Maybe he starts walking slower,

a bad knee.

Or he forgets minor details,

nothing too important

because he still knows

who you are. 

But that’s all that it is, simple

aging, symptoms of life that

everyone gets at some point

along the line. So

life moves on. 

The good times are plenty, 

memories being made and 

laughs being shared

with this man, your grandpa, 

you love so much. 

But it 

gets

worse. 

You start seeing 

more signs, more

indications of aging,

of maybe something else. 

You start to see

the toll

it can all take, the pain.

You ask yourself why and 

how, holding on to all the moments

in between.

And then comes the 

diagnosis,

a label for this aging-that’s-more-than-aging. 

You don’t know if it’s worse

or better

to have a box to put

around everything, but a box you have.

It keeps getting

worse, an exponential function, growing

increasingly large. The

memories, the 

cognition, the

motor skills―

gone.

There goes the motorhome

and the car

and the bike

and the trike,

one after the next, taking away

for his safety

and others.

And the shop, where

hours used to be spent

each day, gathers

dust. 

And the couch, the brown

leather one beneath the lamp, 

gets worn patches,

a go-to nap spot at 

all hours of the day.

And so the cycle

goes, days spent 

sleeping and napping with occasional 

meals sprinkled in and, every so

often, in a moment of beauty and 

joy, 

a conscious few minutes, a 

look back into the man he

was. So you cherish

those moments, laughing when you can,

reminding yourself it’s not his fault

he can’t always remember 

who you are.

You know this is not

what he would want.

Who would want 

it, this slow decay into

nothing, absolute

nothing,

as you lose your 

mind, body, and soul. 

Yet what else is there for you

to do but watch as it all

happens anyway, as the slow

nothingness creeps over.

But it’s not just your 

pain

and your tears that are shed, but 

hers, your grandma,

who’s there,

always, always,

always there.

Her husband, her love, her

patient. 

And so you cry for her, too, for her

pain and fear and anger and hurt.

You wish you could

help,

could do more,

something, anything.

You hate that it’s come to this, this

role of hers as his caretaker, 

not a role she signed up for

but one she bares anyway.

You admire her

courage and 

strength

and love, and

you wish the world 

wasn’t so f**king cruel. But 

it is, and life

goes on. 

I wish life was still 

rose-colored,

still the world in which

everyone

was invincible and immortal. 

But it’s not, so instead, I 

hold on to the memories―

the trips in the motorhome, to 

rivers and deserts and mountains and rocks;

the inside joke of when Pah-Pah 

became Pae-Pae;

the shared cookies and ice cream and

other miscellaneous desserts;

the jokes and the smiles and the laughs,

the neverending teasing―

because the man may not

be immortal but

the memories are.

written by Zoey Hart

sbcspin

That is beyond lovely.

Jeanne C.

Melvina, what a moving tribute to you both. I'm sorry you're going through this. You and your family are in my thoughts.

Ed1937

Melvina, I'm so, so sorry. And I hope you recover quickly. The poem sounds like it was written by someone years older than his granddaughter. It also sounds like she had been pretty close as all this was happening.

Jgirl57

Thank you melvina30 for sharing your story and sorry about his most recent decline . What a special grandchild ! Hugs as the next step advances your way .

gampiano

that was amazing, and so heart felt.

JeriLynn66

What a loving and heartfelt gift your precious Granddaughter has given ❤️

harshedbuzz

Thank you for sharing your story and the piece your granddaughter wrote. I am so sorry for the place in which you find yourself right now.

HB

Jeff86

That was very beautiful indeed. Lovely of you to have shared it. Sorry you have arrived at this sad moment.

Joydean

Thank you for sharing and it is a heart felt poem. Prayers for you, your husband and your family. Your granddaughter seems very wise and compassionate beyond her age, so glad you have her.

Palmetto Peg

What a wonderful granddaughter you have! I know you will always cherish what she wrote for her grandpa. I wish you well on this next sad journey. May her strength be yours, too.

Denise1847

I am so sorry. It sounds like you had a wonderful relationship. Thank you for sharing the beautiful poem. I think your granddaughter is very talented.

midge333

Thanks for sharing.

toolbeltexpert

Thank you for sharing those precious words of your granddaughter. I know this is so hard, the decisions we have to make at this time in life may you have great peace for all your loving care you've given during this time.I will keep you in my prayers

trottingalong

I just read this beautiful poem, it made me cry. Thank you for sharing. I’m sorry for your loss.

ButterflyWings

So beautiful. And such an accurate description of the disease and its destruction. I am so sorry that your family has been touched by dementia, as has ours.

May you draw even closer together for strength to endure this next phase. I wish you healing from the pain and grief in due time. What a loving family yours seems to be. He is blessed beyond measure by that, above all else.

Davegrant

What a great poem and those words pretty much nailed it, my eyes filled with water as I read it. The granddaughter has great insight into this experience. Thanks for the poem.

Dave

mrahope

What a lovely tribute from your granddaughter to both of you. Lots of love shows up in these lines.