Writing about the humanness of Alzheimer’s, a thing that strips that very same humanness from our closest ties in this life, takes a strength I don’t know if I’ll find, when my turn comes.
S Lynn Knight this is so beautifully written, with such honesty and from such a vulnerable place.
Alexainie
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Alexainie: I’ve been sitting on this reply in my heart and head for a week now. Everyday I wanted to sit down and write it but I could not find the words to tell you how truly sorry I am to know this terrible disease is haunting your family, destined to slip into your houses like a thief in the night. It broke my heart to read your words.

You will want to give Alzhiemer’s the family jewels, the heirloom china or any other material thing of value you can find in order to send it packing and keep the one you love safe, but at the end of it, I’ve found all we can give is ourselves in a tender balance between our emotions and rational thinking so the disease doesn’t chew us up and spit us out, too.

Writing about it, exchanging thoughts and feelings with wonderfully compassionate people such as yourself has sustained me and righted the ship when it was ‘taking on water’.

Being on the front lines as a primary caregiver is not without it’s rewards, but I’ve had to shift my focus from looking at the very worst of this disease to make room for moments of relief and laughter, though it’s not always easy. My mom still has a sense of humor but it’s subtle. I hate to think I’d miss those opportunities to giggle with her because I’m solely focused on how I can’t believe I’m changing my mother’s soiled pull-ups.

It makes a difference, it really does, to know you and others like you are “out there” poised to give your compassion and understanding, and I wanted most of all to tell you, I’m here for you, too. *hugs* and ❤ — Happy 2018!

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