It's weird. . .

ghphotog

We used to come here all time.

My DW would have a coke and I would have a beer. That was back in stages 2 through early 6. We would always get a small pepperoni to go. Back then I also was caring for my mom also. I loved sitting in this exact booth with her right by my side. We would hold hands under the table.

Eventually, slowly we had to stop coming because she was acting out more and more and it ceased being enjoyable. I dreamed of the day however when I could come back by myself and enjoy a beer in peace.

Now that day is here I don't feel the way I thought I would. It's weird, the human condition I guess that when we are always under stress we look over the fence towards freedom and when it finally gets here it's not how we imagined. Now I'm sitting in our booth by myself, not exuberant for my freedom but a bit lost.

Guilt and sorrow overshadows my relief from constant caregiving but I watched a video today from dementia careblazers about guilt which has helped me realize I was a dmd good caregiver for her. I showed up day in and day out for years. I did the best I knew how to do and the best for her that I was capable of. I did a damd good job. Cheers!

Still waiting for picture to load.

jfkoc

I personally hate the word quilt.

It makes me think of doing something wrong and knowing it at the time. I, like you, did my best. Looking back could I have done some things differently? Yes, but my action or lack thereof, usually stemmed from a lack of knowledge. I will allow myself to feel regret but that is all.

Cheers to you and to the rest of us here who do/did our best!

A thought about that booth/beer/pizza. Try a new place. Making changes helped me. Going down memory lane not so much.

-Judith

trottingalong

One of my biggest fears is what you just wrote. Some days I long for the day I can do whatever I want, visit who I want, ride my horse when I want and change things around the house. But I really fear the loneliness that will come without my best friend by my side, even though I’ve lost a chunk of him already. You said it well “looking over the fence at freedom.” I guess it’s be careful what you wish for. Cheers ghphotog.

Jgirl57

Cheers to being a d*%# good caregiver.

Phoenix1966

I feel it isn’t guilt that one feels, but a kind of grief for what has been lost.

AnderK

Cheers.

charley0419

Take a deep breath and relaxe you deserve it we all do

Joe C.

When I revisit places DW & I frequented they are never quite as enjoyable as they once were. I think it falls under the heading of, “ you can never go home again”.

wizmo

I’m avoiding most of ‘our’ places without DW but some are impossible. I use some of them to grieve, like waking in a park where we didn’t go much until the year before placement. There I can remember both reasons for placement and a few of the last quality times we had.

Last Dance

The sad part about guilt it never really goes away. it's like grief it never really goes away. In June my wife will have been gone eight years and there are still times when I look at a picture or I think about something she wanted me to do, or I think about the Times I wasn't patient with her, the times when I would think I wish it was over one way or the other for her or for me. and And those times eat at my heart. It took me three years to go to places that we would go to and enjoy. Maybe for me some of it is because in May of 2020 my only son in law had a stroke that Brought me back into the realm of being a caregiver again, trying to help my daughter with him. Then last May 2023 I lost my only daughter and my first child, after a three year struggle with cancer, And because her husband couldn't take care of her I again became a caregiver. And now I have her guilt on me along with the guilt of my wife. In reality I was a good caregiver, I gave everything I had to both my wife and my daughter, but in the end guilt wins out. Some days are better than others, but it's always there lurking in the back of my mind trying to get out.

midge333

Be kind to yourself! We never give ourselves the grace that we freely give to others.