She Said To Write About It.

My Friend ... faithful soulmate ... author ... Shirley ... She Said to Write About it.
That is a hard assignment, deep and intrusive.




Mother has Alzheimer or some sort of dementia …. I am confused as to what “the” doctors’ say and things my sister and I have researched. It doesn’t matter what her illness is labeled, our mother is not the mother that nurtured us into adulthood.



She and my father have always been best friends, looking out for and after each other. This morning, Mother wandered in attempt to go see her long-deceased mother. Dad followed close behind admonishing her to go back in the house. She physically attacked him In a defensive move he blocked her blows with his forearm. She now has a bruise on her arm where their bodies met. He feels terrible, as if, somehow he caused her injury.



My father said the attack upset him so badly he threw up. He is a man who always has taken care of his family … his wife, his girls. He can handle things; knows the right way to do stuff. This is too big for him … but he can not let go. It is misery to witness his heartbreak, his inability to accept the slipping away of the love of his life.



Me, I feel helpless. Confused as to what I can do or am capable of ---. That is the whole of it --- void. Void as to understanding, believing, trusting, acting, being … just a void that I can not put a label, a name, or a feeling ---



Life moves on as it should. The sun shines, the birds sing. People go to work, play, shop, vacation, exercise, sleep … Within in my heart the clock hands move in psychotic directions … time blurs at warp speed forward, backward … then the big hand stands straight up 12 and the little hands pushes forward slowly like a water-bug caught in swamp mud … psychotic confusion.

Doris

4/06/2011