my relationship with guilt and time

enduring the slow dance of Alzheimer's

A family of ducks on a dam, at the edge of the water falling

The guilt rises as I close the door behind me.

The space and time that takes hold of my mind, that’s not in hers.

How long do I stay? Is an hour and a half ok? Two hours? What does guilt say?

Often. She dozes.

I have to rethink all of this.

The length of time is not important anymore.

It’s the attention. The connection. The eye contact between us. The laughter.

I tell myself this.

Again and again. Ask my therapist. She’ll tell you.

But the heaviness in my chest pushes against it.

What is time like for her in the now?

She no longer knows the last time I was there and the time between the next is…what?

A flowing, spinning cloudy orbit of ambiguous existence?

I was taught that time was important. That it was scheduled. It is to be followed. Closely. Rigidly. Paid attention to. It mattered. More than joy.

And now, it’s hard. It’s so damn hard to reshape my brain cells to an understanding that she is no longer capable of organizing her day. Like she did before, without missing a beat.

But Alzheimer’s is in control now. It’s robbed her of her agency over how she spends her day. It’s robbed her of her friends. It’s robbed her of her consciousness. It’s robbed her, it’s robbed her. It’s robbed us. It’s robbed the world she lived in.

She is here. But she’s not. For how long? The steady ache of not knowing. Wanting this not to last, but not wanting Mom to die.

Then it becomes all the things we did together are behind us. There is no more ahead. There is no more time spent with her. There is only the past and what was once.

Dad has been gone since 2021 and I am only beginning to understand that everything I did with him, wanted to do with him, felt between us, is no longer alive. It’s floating about in my memories. Some I will someday lose.

Grieving a life gone, grieving a life diminished and leaving slowly.

Living in between grief, life, death, dying, living.

I am alive. I am alive. I am here. For now, am I okay?

A snapping turtle sits on a bike path absorbing the sun