The Atheist and Loss of a Loved One via Death

     1 Thessalonians 4:13 "But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope." KJV

I took the picture of the garden spider, altered it myself on my legally obtained digital photography software, and added the quote from Charles Bukowski. Yes, you may save it to your computer and upload it to any social media of your choosing. If you are a copyright monopolist troll, you are not welcome here so go mentally masturbate somewhere else. No love for you.

     I have hope. It is not formed from the quasi-expectation

 that I will be reunited with Dad in some grand heavenly 

scheme. My hope is not the feeling of certainty that 

accompanies many believers when confronted with the 

suffering and deaths of those near and dear to them.

     My hope is different than that.

     The author of First Thessalonians made an assumption. 

Those of us who are unbelievers mourn heavily in certain 

ways because we don't have the hope of reunion after death

 that Christians have. I have not found any good-enough 

evidence for survival after physical death. I prefer to live 

life as if this is it. Because for me, this is it. Life is 

fantastic. I have not found the need to insert any sort of 

divinity into the formulary.

     My hope is in the application of stem cell research to 

medicine. 

sapphoq on life says: In the course of his Lewy Body 

Dementia, Dad lost a lot. He lost his marriage, his career,

 his money, his friends. 

     It was a privilege to be with Dad during the last years of

his life. Although there were some difficult times, I would

not have missed being with Dad for the world. Dad died

knowing that his life mattered. He certainly made a

difference in my life.

     I lost one person to death. Dad lost everyone. 

Lies

I took pictures and I altered them and I made this. Please right-click to download to your computer if you wish to save it and/or use it.

     I detest being lied to. There is no reason to lie to me about where you are when I call you. Hey, vacations are great. Long ones are wonderful. Where do you get off telling me that you can't talk because you are at work?

     The truth would have sufficed. I'm out with friends right now and I can't talk. Can you send me the info? Yeah, I would have understood that. Totally. I get that. 

     It's considered "rude" to take phone calls when entertaining. Even though a large percentage of people do it anyway, it is not cool. I tell people I need to call them back when I am with friends. So the truth would have been respected.

     Things are stressful enough when advocating for a dying parent. I visit several times a week. Until recently, I was transporting to doctor appointments. I watched as yet another mini-mental status was conducted. The results never improved. "I haven't seen her in eight months." I had no words to explain your absence. He loves us both. Now he is actively dying. Your lies roll off your tongue.

     This is not about you and it is not about me. We are losing one person. He is losing everyone. Take your drama and your lies elsewhere. I am burnt to a crisp.

                          ~ sapphoq on life

         

Cookies

"You're a frig!" she yelled at the frightened and withdrawn child. "You make me sick."
The child knew at a young age that 'frig' was her mother's word for 'f*ck'. And the word 'f*ck' was one of the worst swear words ever. The child did not understand how she could make her mother sick. 

Sometimes on a Saturday, we made cookies.

"Where were you?" she screamed at the teen. "I was worried sick about you!" Curses followed in a rapid-fire linear equation.
"I told you the school fair was today after school."
"No. You. Did. Not."
The teen held out a cheap trinket that some teacher had suggested she purchase for her mother.
All smiles then.

They were sugar cookies. With icing.

"Go downstairs and apologize to [step-father]. [Step-father] does not remember last night."
The teen stared at her mother from her bed.
"No. I will not apologize. He may not remember but I know that you do. I did nothing wrong."
The teen pretended to go back to sleep. 
"Come live with me," her dad said when he called her later that day.
She moved out shortly after that.

Dad didn't make cookies with me. But he didn't beat me up or curse at me or call me bad names either.

You Say

     You say you get "it." 

     I've done my research also.  I was the one who first brought up his symptoms which fit the diagnosis, even before the two neuro-docs concurred.  I've worked with old folks who had dementia-- a whole variety of dementias-- for many years.  Things got different when Dad caught it.  Suddenly, I was the crazed family member who could not keep Dad at home.  I was the one that the younger staff members looked upon with suspicion wondering if-- or when-- I will come down with it also.

     I know-- from my own brain damage-- that after the brain gets loosened up, the brain goes into survival mode.  Part of that change
is a self-centered centering at a time when all of the middles are 
rapidly exploding into lesions of scarification.  Dad's utter and total
self-centeredness is not something he would have chosen for himself.  Through the passage of time, my own survival mechanisms have allowed me a bit less self-centeredness.  Dad, not so much.  His brain is getting bombarded with lesions and there is scarsely time to breathe in-between new formations. 

     You say you get "it."  You say you understand his dementia.

     Dad is not a case.  He is not the L.B.D. in room three.  He is the man with a failing brain that I love with a fierceness even through all of his atypical neurology messing around in his head.  My heart breaks every day.  My heart breaks next door.  Yours breaks from a distance. 

     This dementia has made us strange to each other.  We cling to our separate life rafts in our separate spheres, each of us with our own twisted and bleeding wounds.  I thought perhaps that our two rafts could connect.  We could traverse the rugged seas in tandem, both of us supporting the other as we also support ourselves and Dad.  The winds whip up in fury screaming, "Not to be.  Not to be."  Instead, I've found a cousin and an aunt [who is not Dad's sister but my mother's sister] and my life partner and a doctor who each bring their own brands of wisdom to my life raft and who help me to support Dad.

     But this is not wholly about any of us.  We are the bystanders.  Dad is the one who is fantastically and utterly consumed.  We are losing one person.  He is losing everyone.  He has already lost so much. 

     You say you get "it."  You say you understand his dementia.  Can you please explain it to me?

~ sapphoq on life ~