january 9th, 2010

/9/10

I met a man today whose mother has Alzheimer's. We quickly got into a conversation about our parents, exchanging details and stories. His mother is in a nursing home in Florida, near his sister, and he doesn't see her often. He says she doesn't talk at all, just smiles. “Thank God for the daughters,” he said, causing a burst of what I hope was well-hidden anger in me. I know women still have plenty of areas where we're not equal, but looking at this man, I just wanted to shake him and say “It's not fair to leave this whole horrible task to your sister. Do your share!”

The other thing he said that upset me was, “your Dad sounds like he's in stage 2. Enjoy that stage, it's temporary.” I suppose he meant well, but it made me cry – I don't need to be reminded that this is a progressive disease.

Overall, I don't really find talking to other relatives of people with Alzheimer's that helpful. When Trish, who works in the Church office, told me about her grandparent with Alzheimer's, we both wound up crying.

More than a few people have tried to steer me towards the ubiquitous support groups for Alzheimer's caregivers, but, while I totally understand the theory behind peer support groups, I think that listening to other peoples' stories would just make me cry. The only thing I can think of that might help me cope better is art therapy, but it doesn't seem to be a common offering. Normally, I work through things by sculpting or drawing, but lately I just haven't had the right energy – the images don't flow in my head the way they used to. And, of course, time spent making art is time taken away from work, Dad, the housekeeping, etc.