Dementia is a brutal disease. My grandmother passed away two years ago from vascular dementia, took around 10 years from first symptoms to she passed. The worst part, IMO, is that the disease robs the person of their personality. My grandparents were...passionate but volatile people. They'd have intense discussions, which would evolve into shouting matches, and then 5 minutes later back to normal, as if it never happened. They were both very social.
Around midway into the disease, she just became very quiet. Apathic. Didn't want to hold a conversation - couldn't hold a conversation. At the this time my grandpa had a nasty fall accident, which resulted in a brain hemorrhage - the long term effect was that he lost his short term memory, and basically had dementia symptoms. I guess that was a blessing, because especially he was feeling the effects of living with a dementia patient. At least now they were somewhat blissfully unaware of their problems (after the accident he started rationalizing my grandmothers dementia with her simply "losing her hearing")
In any case, the loss of personality sucks big time. Three years before her death, things ramped up. Misplaced items everywhere, cleaning up after their accidents, basically "dementia-proofing" every single thing in the house. Tracking down hearing aids which they had a habit of just hiding. By aunt basically worked full time as a caretaker, for a whole year straight. She had to go into early retirement by two years, just to be able to do that. And that was with healthcare professionals checking by 3-4 times a day.
The relief was immense when they finally got placed into a memory care facility, but sadly that's also when things started to speed up.
My grandparents were basically my extra parents growing up, and meant the world to me. When I was a bit younger they both experienced serious health problems, and my anxiety shot through the roof - sure, they were in their 70s, but losing them was unthinkable to me.
So when they finally passed, one year from each others, I was surprised to not feel that much sadness anymore. More relived that they didn't have to suffer anymore. In a way, they were already "gone" years prior to their bodies passing away.
I have wondered how I will feel when my own parents pass. I suspect I will largely grieve the lack of a bond to grieve. My condolences to the author, for her ongoing loss.
Such amazing writing. Vulnerable, raw, and sincere.
I am sad, but not just for the mother, also for the daughters. And not just because they longed for their mother’s love that never arrived, but they found themselves in this artificial moral system that forces them to account for who deserves what, and justifies the anger they now have to live with. As if the anger is a gain, rather than a burden.
Not sure if this is a coping mechanism, and even if it is, it appears to be a maladaptive one, but this moral accounting, the idea of one deserving and the other one not deserving, with an arbitrary starting point is pure delusion, and not even a helpful one.
People were forced from their home - a home their ancestors likely stole from someone else, going back ad infinitum - yet this made them the person they are. Or they were the one who stole it, and their descendants believe they deserved it. They might even say “they worked hard for it.”
It would be consistent if this was in a moral system where forceful taking wasn’t considered immoral. But it’s not. It was moral when my ancestors stole, but immoral if you want what I inherited. Such cognitive dissonance, motivated by, not really a desire to survive most of the time, but to experience luxury. Even if you were to win, it seems misguided and a waste of a life as far as we know we all get one chance to live right or well - whichever you’d consider not wasted.
My grandfather owned a sizable amount of land at a time when land was the primary means of production. Sizable is relative, but I’ve seen those who worked on the land, without owning any of it. They seem to have been grateful and happy, and the next generation appears to be thankful to my dad’s family. Does that change the fact that my grandfather or his ancestors obviously didn’t create that land out of thin air with amazing work ethic? They took it from someone. And I benefitted from it enormously.
Who deserves what, and who worked hard… nonsensical talk.
We should all believe that working hard will yield a better life for us. I believe believing that is important. But thinking that it’s real and allowing it to shape our morality seems outright immoral.
I wish her peace. And hope she discovers it’s a much better live with forgiveness and generosity, and no regard for who deserves what. It was thieves and thievery all along, and it still is.
depressing stuff! a misinterpretation of empathy is dangeous; there are countless faultlessly unfortunate people that deserve empathy and opportunity, yet there are just as many individuals undeserving of the excuse.
Well, I think people should go with their own judgment. Was a bad parent bad as a person or unable? Children who endure such an ordeal, as I once was, will know the difference. One of the aspects of enduring bad parenting is that one starts to doubt ones own judgment. Once all aspects have been weighed ones own judgment should be taken as accurate. Spouses of bad parents are very often quite blind to what is happening in their own house.
I had both a very similar and very different experience with my father.
To me the main difference is the role of the other parent. My mother was always very protective of us, and as far as she could would sympathise and not try and make us see a person who clearly wasn’t there, or mythologise about a parent who could have been. My older siblings forgave my father (and had memories of him when he was more normal), but I never did, and, I think most importantly, nobody asks me to. Fuck that guy.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that this may be much more about the other parent. The author’s father is in deep denial and isn’t trying to protect his kids, and is the core of this problem. Let the kids grieve the mother they never had, rather than endless apologism.
Dementia is a brutal disease. My grandmother passed away two years ago from vascular dementia, took around 10 years from first symptoms to she passed. The worst part, IMO, is that the disease robs the person of their personality. My grandparents were...passionate but volatile people. They'd have intense discussions, which would evolve into shouting matches, and then 5 minutes later back to normal, as if it never happened. They were both very social.
Around midway into the disease, she just became very quiet. Apathic. Didn't want to hold a conversation - couldn't hold a conversation. At the this time my grandpa had a nasty fall accident, which resulted in a brain hemorrhage - the long term effect was that he lost his short term memory, and basically had dementia symptoms. I guess that was a blessing, because especially he was feeling the effects of living with a dementia patient. At least now they were somewhat blissfully unaware of their problems (after the accident he started rationalizing my grandmothers dementia with her simply "losing her hearing")
In any case, the loss of personality sucks big time. Three years before her death, things ramped up. Misplaced items everywhere, cleaning up after their accidents, basically "dementia-proofing" every single thing in the house. Tracking down hearing aids which they had a habit of just hiding. By aunt basically worked full time as a caretaker, for a whole year straight. She had to go into early retirement by two years, just to be able to do that. And that was with healthcare professionals checking by 3-4 times a day.
The relief was immense when they finally got placed into a memory care facility, but sadly that's also when things started to speed up.
My grandparents were basically my extra parents growing up, and meant the world to me. When I was a bit younger they both experienced serious health problems, and my anxiety shot through the roof - sure, they were in their 70s, but losing them was unthinkable to me.
So when they finally passed, one year from each others, I was surprised to not feel that much sadness anymore. More relived that they didn't have to suffer anymore. In a way, they were already "gone" years prior to their bodies passing away.
I have wondered how I will feel when my own parents pass. I suspect I will largely grieve the lack of a bond to grieve. My condolences to the author, for her ongoing loss.
Such amazing writing. Vulnerable, raw, and sincere.
I am sad, but not just for the mother, also for the daughters. And not just because they longed for their mother’s love that never arrived, but they found themselves in this artificial moral system that forces them to account for who deserves what, and justifies the anger they now have to live with. As if the anger is a gain, rather than a burden.
Not sure if this is a coping mechanism, and even if it is, it appears to be a maladaptive one, but this moral accounting, the idea of one deserving and the other one not deserving, with an arbitrary starting point is pure delusion, and not even a helpful one.
People were forced from their home - a home their ancestors likely stole from someone else, going back ad infinitum - yet this made them the person they are. Or they were the one who stole it, and their descendants believe they deserved it. They might even say “they worked hard for it.”
It would be consistent if this was in a moral system where forceful taking wasn’t considered immoral. But it’s not. It was moral when my ancestors stole, but immoral if you want what I inherited. Such cognitive dissonance, motivated by, not really a desire to survive most of the time, but to experience luxury. Even if you were to win, it seems misguided and a waste of a life as far as we know we all get one chance to live right or well - whichever you’d consider not wasted.
My grandfather owned a sizable amount of land at a time when land was the primary means of production. Sizable is relative, but I’ve seen those who worked on the land, without owning any of it. They seem to have been grateful and happy, and the next generation appears to be thankful to my dad’s family. Does that change the fact that my grandfather or his ancestors obviously didn’t create that land out of thin air with amazing work ethic? They took it from someone. And I benefitted from it enormously.
Who deserves what, and who worked hard… nonsensical talk.
We should all believe that working hard will yield a better life for us. I believe believing that is important. But thinking that it’s real and allowing it to shape our morality seems outright immoral.
I wish her peace. And hope she discovers it’s a much better live with forgiveness and generosity, and no regard for who deserves what. It was thieves and thievery all along, and it still is.
I should reread Tao of Pooh.
depressing stuff! a misinterpretation of empathy is dangeous; there are countless faultlessly unfortunate people that deserve empathy and opportunity, yet there are just as many individuals undeserving of the excuse.
Well, I think people should go with their own judgment. Was a bad parent bad as a person or unable? Children who endure such an ordeal, as I once was, will know the difference. One of the aspects of enduring bad parenting is that one starts to doubt ones own judgment. Once all aspects have been weighed ones own judgment should be taken as accurate. Spouses of bad parents are very often quite blind to what is happening in their own house.
I had both a very similar and very different experience with my father.
To me the main difference is the role of the other parent. My mother was always very protective of us, and as far as she could would sympathise and not try and make us see a person who clearly wasn’t there, or mythologise about a parent who could have been. My older siblings forgave my father (and had memories of him when he was more normal), but I never did, and, I think most importantly, nobody asks me to. Fuck that guy.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that this may be much more about the other parent. The author’s father is in deep denial and isn’t trying to protect his kids, and is the core of this problem. Let the kids grieve the mother they never had, rather than endless apologism.