Another Visit

Sunday, August 23, 2015

I had another dream. This time, my sister was visiting me at Birch Lake. We spent a wonderful afternoon together visiting. We were at peace with each other. It was a wonderful visit with her. I mourn the loss of her and I may only get to visit with her in my dreams, only the future will tell.

I have no hate, only love for her. I do not know where all her anger and hate comes from, just that it is aimed at me for the wrongs she sees that I have done. I do know, I do not have to defend my actions. That I did exactly as my mother wished, with the exception of keeping her alive longer than she desired. She requested that I kill her so many times and that one wish I could never fulfill.

I don’t need to explain to my sister what it is like to take care of an Alzheimer’s person, who is slowing losing herself. The mood swings and anger that she has no one to aim it at except you, her caretaker. Sometimes it was only verbal, the nasty horrible things she said. Sometimes it was physical, to herself, yanking out of my grasp and flinging herself across a room or on the floor, like a child throwing a tantrum, or me, hitting, kicking, or biting. The fears, disappointments, and anger, from her past (from child to adult), that comes bubbling to the surface in more forms than I ever imagined. It seems they surfaced far more than her happy memories. The times she would sink into the past and talks about thinks she had never spoken about before, lots of it is hard to make sense of what she was talking about, but I talked with her and listened until she was gone. Or the heartbreak for those short moments when she is herself and then drifts away. Thinking about it brings tears to my eyes to this day.

Maybe that is what my sister is angry about—I got to spend all those years with mother, whether she was herself or not and in the here and now or not. I can't take on her burden of blame. I can only wait.