|Grandy, My Mother, Charlie, and APR|
"...My father, Alexander Clelland, died of a stroke just a little over a year ago, and my mother still thought he was alive. She did beautifully at his funeral, and in that moment she seemed to understand that he was gone. But after that it just felt cruel to ever bring it up. When she would ask, Where’s your father? We would just calmly tell her that he was out getting his hair cut. ..."
I know all about this, unfortunately. APR is well into Stage 4, probably the late stages. We're fortunate in that he's still doing quite well, physically. To date, there is not as much of the problem with bathroom issues - yet. His problems are more mental than physical. He's with it maybe 40% of the time. That is a huge drop since early in the summer. I think things are harder on my mother, dealing the unending questions. I realized that I don't have the patience I should have. I never wanted children because I just don't like dealing with little kids. This is where we are now. The questions are like a 4 or 5 year old, constant, repeated, incessant.
APR spends a lot of time in Minnesota. He's fighting World War II (in the Army for some strange reason). He talks to his father, frequently. And then there are times where it just don't make sense. My mother has had to cut back on what he watches on television. No news, violence, or weather. He thinks the weather reports are local.
The worst part - for my mother - is dealing with the incessant demands to know why his parents aren't having dinner with us. Where are they? Have we talked to Ma today? Will his father be spending the night. Have we checked on my grandparents? Where is my sister?
And so forth and so on.
After one time telling him that his brother was dead, and the pain I saw in his eyes, I just lie to him. It's easier - on him.
All rights reserved, SJ Reidhead