Hi, Anne. It's remarkable to read about someone else's experience and in some way have a light go on. “Ah!!! Of course, that’s what was happening then.” Reading your essay and then also Pam’s comment did that for me just now. When we were preparing to move across country three-and-a-half years ago I dealt with the house and left the garage to Doug. I didn't understand why he never seemed to be making progress, even though he insisted he was. After we moved, I learned we had literally paid movers to transport bags and boxes of garbage. Once we got his diagnosis, I was able to look back and say, “Ah, this explains that.” But your friend’s explanation reframes it for me. Thank you for sharing it. Courage for the day, whatever today brings. 💕
One ofthe best things about Substack is that it gives people like us an opportunity to find each other. It’s really lovely that no one on Substack has read this post and said, “You just have to make him buckle down and do it!” Instead, people say, “Ah, I recognize that. I have lived that, too.” I’m sorry you paid to move garbage. I’m sorry you have to make all the decisions now. It’s such a terrible disease.
Oh, Anne. This is all so difficult. The not knowing anything for sure is the worst part.
I don't know how the disease that Mr. J is struggling with works on the brain, but I do know that I spent YEARS being angry at Mike for not getting things done. He had major issues with procrastination long before his diagnosis, so that wasn't new--but it got to the point was there was zero follow-through, on anything. Now I understand that when he said "I'll do it later," he almost always meant "I don't know how to do that anymore, but I don't want to admit that." When he didn't follow through, it meant that he'd totally forgotten what he was supposed to do. When I reminded him that it needed to be done--and, again, he said "I'll do it later"--it felt like we were stuck in a neverending loop.
Understanding this did not make it any less sad to watch or frustrating to deal with. And it didn't help me make peace with having to do everything myself. I wish I knew you in real life so I could offer a glass of wine and a big hug. ❤️
@Pam Johnston, if I am anywhere near Texas, I will let you know and we can meet for wine and a hug. And a cheese and charcuterie board, of course. Until then, your notes and support are meaningful. It is easier for me to be patient knowing I can come here and people who know will see me, and the situation, for what it is. (And, likely grieve with me for what it is not.) thank you for being here. You are currently ahead of me in the process, (a situation that I understand could change on a dime) and I am learning from you and your experiences. Thank you for being here.
I'm sorry, Anne. Hugs. I love friends who know the strength of holding space open for us, or the "tell me more" active listeners.
Love your description of the Great Dane shake-it-off move. Mine has been more of a scrunched-up, running-on-the-spot, frustrated arm-pumping, tantrum with the sprinkling of a silent scream, and head-shaking move.
I'm sending over buckets of grace and love because new perspectives and reframes can illuminate, offer possibilities, but are painful, and who knows all the whys and wherefores or what applies... you're both doing your best, in the moments that are yours. No rights or wrongs, just one moment after another with a lot of navigating. hugs.
Hi, Anne. It's remarkable to read about someone else's experience and in some way have a light go on. “Ah!!! Of course, that’s what was happening then.” Reading your essay and then also Pam’s comment did that for me just now. When we were preparing to move across country three-and-a-half years ago I dealt with the house and left the garage to Doug. I didn't understand why he never seemed to be making progress, even though he insisted he was. After we moved, I learned we had literally paid movers to transport bags and boxes of garbage. Once we got his diagnosis, I was able to look back and say, “Ah, this explains that.” But your friend’s explanation reframes it for me. Thank you for sharing it. Courage for the day, whatever today brings. 💕
One ofthe best things about Substack is that it gives people like us an opportunity to find each other. It’s really lovely that no one on Substack has read this post and said, “You just have to make him buckle down and do it!” Instead, people say, “Ah, I recognize that. I have lived that, too.” I’m sorry you paid to move garbage. I’m sorry you have to make all the decisions now. It’s such a terrible disease.
Oh, Anne. This is all so difficult. The not knowing anything for sure is the worst part.
I don't know how the disease that Mr. J is struggling with works on the brain, but I do know that I spent YEARS being angry at Mike for not getting things done. He had major issues with procrastination long before his diagnosis, so that wasn't new--but it got to the point was there was zero follow-through, on anything. Now I understand that when he said "I'll do it later," he almost always meant "I don't know how to do that anymore, but I don't want to admit that." When he didn't follow through, it meant that he'd totally forgotten what he was supposed to do. When I reminded him that it needed to be done--and, again, he said "I'll do it later"--it felt like we were stuck in a neverending loop.
Understanding this did not make it any less sad to watch or frustrating to deal with. And it didn't help me make peace with having to do everything myself. I wish I knew you in real life so I could offer a glass of wine and a big hug. ❤️
@Pam Johnston, if I am anywhere near Texas, I will let you know and we can meet for wine and a hug. And a cheese and charcuterie board, of course. Until then, your notes and support are meaningful. It is easier for me to be patient knowing I can come here and people who know will see me, and the situation, for what it is. (And, likely grieve with me for what it is not.) thank you for being here. You are currently ahead of me in the process, (a situation that I understand could change on a dime) and I am learning from you and your experiences. Thank you for being here.
I'm sorry, Anne. Hugs. I love friends who know the strength of holding space open for us, or the "tell me more" active listeners.
Love your description of the Great Dane shake-it-off move. Mine has been more of a scrunched-up, running-on-the-spot, frustrated arm-pumping, tantrum with the sprinkling of a silent scream, and head-shaking move.
I'm sending over buckets of grace and love because new perspectives and reframes can illuminate, offer possibilities, but are painful, and who knows all the whys and wherefores or what applies... you're both doing your best, in the moments that are yours. No rights or wrongs, just one moment after another with a lot of navigating. hugs.
((Hug))
Thank you, Teyani. I appreciate you.