Many tears have been shed since Mom began her decline. It’s been a tough adjustment for all of us close to her. It’s been especially difficult for Dad. He’s lost his best friend and lifelong companion. Decisions that used to be made by the two of them in agreement have fallen on his shoulders. It’s especially difficult when letters or relationships bring up the good old days. He’s the one holding their memories now.
This week Dad came across a letter Mom wrote to friends about their trip to the Holy Land in 1966. They were stationed in Turkey at the Air Force base in Izmir, and they drove down through Lebenon and Syria to Jordan for a week. The letter was a very detailed list of activities and places as well as the corresponding scriptures for each location’s significance. Mom was pregnant with me at the time so my siblings were 11, 10 and 7 years old. She wrote about the kids swimming in the Dead Sea, walking along the Via Dolorosa, and driving back home along the coast. As is typical for a typed letter from that time, it’s full of marked out letters instead of erasures. It is three pages of single spaced, small type. Dad said she wrote it all from memory after they returned.
He read it to her when he found it, but she didn’t remember the trip. It was as if she was hearing it for the first time. He also showed her pictures from a party when my brother’s children were small. Dad lamented that she didn’t even recognize herself, much less know any of the other people.
It’s a terrible place for him. I can only imagine how lonely it must be, heartbreak that brings tears.
In the early 90’s, I worked in a long-term care home and at a dementia daycare in Macon. As part of my training, I had to read a book called “Alzheimer’s: The Living Death.” It was a difficult read for me. Little did I know that I would spend years caregiving for dozens of seniors who were at various stages of dementia. I feel like God was preparing me then for Mom’s care now.
One thing I was totally not prepared for is caring for Dad. I encouraged many families as a friend and caregiver. I was never the patient’s daughter until now. I can care for Mom without too much emotional weight. I have mourned her loss many times as the years have shifted our roles, but I now realize Dad is becoming quite emotionally fragile.
Dad will turn 87 in October. He still walks or rides his bike almost every day, and he is a lean, tough guy. He’s not an emotional sort. This has exposed him to all kinds of difficult feelings. There is the physicality of the care that he gives Mom, but he seems to manage that just fine. The emotions are so tough – unbelievably tough. Tears have come. He wants to be the only one who cares for Mom, but he knows that’s not possible. For the longest time, he held onto the idea that I would be the only other one to spend the night – but he has welcomed another to help.
It is beyond difficult. And tears come easily.
In 1991, Eric Clapton wrote a song called “Tears in Heaven.” I’ve been singing it in my mind a lot lately. There’s a line that goes:
Beyond the door
There’s peace I’m sure
And I know there’ll be no more
Tears in heaven
It’s a biblical fact. Revelation 21:4: And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
I’m ready for heaven.
