Pandemic reflections — watching resilience flourish and compassion take action
About a year ago we all became aware that the pandemic was real and would affect us in ways none of us could have imagined. Little did we know, the year would be a pilgrimage into the disconnected unknown. But for my mom, this reality hit home at the most difficult transition point in her life just as she was dealing with her husband of 60 years (my dad) who had Alzheimer’s.
Dad’s Alzheimer’s worsens
By January 2020, mom’s devoted care for him had crossed into the epic realm as she faithfully followed a strict protocol to prolong their life together, religiously following the advice of Dr. Bredesen, a well-known doctor of neurodegenerative disease who wrote the book The End of Alzheimer’s.
The protocol was complicated and required much diligence, including special testing, a host of supplements taken at various times of the day, a strict exercise regimen, a greatly restricted diet, proper dental care, enough sleep. She followed it all to the letter, easily adding a full-time job onto her already full-time job of taking care of not only the household but also the yard and all the bills, which previously had been my father’s domain.
All during 2019, dad had been steadily getting worse. He put oil in the gas tank, she’d reported to me one day. On another, He’s going through the trash one piece at a time. Then, He won’t take his supplements. He’s stealing candy at the checkout stand. He peed in the oven.
Mom was exhausted. There was so much work to do, putting out his clothes, getting his vitamins ready, preparing special diets, ordering vitamins and specialty food items, dealing with a printer on the fritz, figuring out how to repair the lawnmower, buying new gutters, moving money out of savings into the checkings because dad had forgotten to pay the visa bill, taking over all the finances, changing passwords, trying to deal with dad’s combative insistence that he was fully capable of driving his sports car —plus, trying to still have fun together…Meanwhile, dad would put his coat on at 8:30 am and stand by the front door for hours waiting to go out with mom.
In January, she enrolled dad in adult daycare — a term she hated — and tried to get some in-home care from time to time. She even visited an assisted living home that had memory care and while she said she liked it, told me in private she was “nowhere near ready for dad to go in there.” She mused that sometime, in the distant future, if he did have to go in there, she would drive up there every day (45 minutes away) and take him out for walks, out for coffee. She rationalized, she could still spend quality time with him but would be able to come home and recuperate each night.
She wasn’t ready for that, just yet, however. Instead, she created a ritual for their day, so dad would know what to expect. Every day they would go for a walk with their little dog, Coco, and would visit a coffee shop. A few times a week they would venture off the island (they live on Whidbey Island, WA) to do longer errands such as Costco runs. Coco had qualified to be an emotional support dog, so donned in a bright red vest, Coco would accompany them.
A global pandemic
Then Covid hit.
All the support mom had finally put into place: the ritual day, the daycare, the long walks, the drives to coffee shops and shopping, all ended. Fear and panic began to build about this panic, the worst cases of Covid were in a nursing home in her backyard — Kirkland, WA — where I grew up, and where she often traveled.
With all her support stripped away, my 82-year-old mom was not able to cope. She and dad started getting into terrible fights because he didn’t understand all that she was doing for him or what was going on in the world. He didn’t understand why they weren’t going out for coffee, why he wasn’t seeing his friends at the adult care place. From his perspective, everything was just fine. He couldn’t comprehend that there was a “very terrible flu” going around and everything was closed. Dad didn’t appreciate that Mom was taking care of every single little detail in life that allowed them to be together.
Dad didn’t appreciate that Mom was taking care of every single little detail in life that allowed them to be together.
As quarantine was implemented, Mom was on her own with dad, and dad was becoming totally unmanageable. Mom herself began having health problems with her heart spiking. What would happen to Dad if something happened to her?
Then, two weeks into Covid, Regency Assisted Living in Oak Harbor, WA called and said a space had opened up. This was the place Mom had visited and liked but was not ready to accept as a reality. Regency memory care facility told Mom she could place Dad there, but the caveat was, there would be no visitation. Oh, such anguish!
During such times, it is hard to know what to do, how to move forward. The only thing that seems certain is the sense of loss, the overwhelming grief, the helplessness, and fear.
Mom lived in that state for many months, alone.
Finding her own Way
But then, she did something else. Something simple. She decided she was going to walk her way through her grief, alone. She had long been inspired by those who went on long walks. She had long dreamed of completing The Way (a 500-mile walk/pilgrimage in Spain)but she’d lost the last several years to taking care of dad and now realized at her age and with Covid being a global event, she would probably never actually do it.
Mom found a way — her own Way. Mom embarked on her own 500-mile pilgrimage.
Except she did. Mom found a way — her own Way. Mom embarked on her own 500-mile pilgrimage. It is something she did alone on the beaches and in the woods of Whidbey Island at a rate of about 4 miles a day. I’ve written about this astounding decision, on Medium, in a piece called Finding Your Own Way.
Now, today, on March 20, 2021, between the anniversary of Covid and the date my dad first entered his assisted living home and coinciding just about the time her second vaccine will offer her full protection, my 82-year-old mom (with her little dog, Coco) just finished her 500-mile walk. Because the end of the walk coincided with her second vaccine being safe, several of her grandchildren were able to accompany her for the last 4 miles.
It was a walk to save her life. It was a walk through grief.
How did mom handle this terrible pandemic? How did mom handle her heart-crushing grief? One step at a time.
Walking. Walking.
Mom shows us what resilience looks like
Mom is my hero during this pandemic. I know firsthand the anguish she experienced in putting my dad into memory care, for this is my dad we are talking about. I could barely bear that thought that I couldn’t visit him, but knowing that she couldn’t either, that he wouldn’t know what was going on, was devastating.
Mom is my hero during this pandemic.
My heart broke when mom talked about how guilty she felt. None of us ever envisioned it going like this. Mom would not have put him in a home until much later. She would have gotten little reprieves during daycare and that would have helped. When, and if, she ever had to put him in memory care we all know she would have driven 45 minutes out of her way to visit dad, every day, for sure — no question. She would have taken him out for walks and shopping and to go get coffee.
No, mom. No. You did EVERYTHING you could.
It was not to be. The pandemic cast an unknown pall over life, disconnecting us, forcing us to make decisions we weren’t ready to make.
But, it did something else too. This pandemic showed us our resilience. It showed my mom a path forward that made sense to her — a way to pass through unmentionable grief.
And the grief didn’t go away, mom just walked side-by-side with it, noticing not only the waves of grief accompanying her but the ocean waves, a heart-shaped stone, the wind over the dunes, little red mushrooms, the squish of boots through the mud.
And the grief didn’t go away, mom just walked side-by-side with it, noticing not only the waves of grief accompanying her but the ocean waves, a heart-shaped stone, the wind over the dunes, little red mushrooms, the squish of boots through the mud.
Mom showed us what living fully with everything stripped away might look like, if only we keep walking and noticing.
A memory care facility offers compassion in action
This terrible year also showed me what compassion looks like in action. This story, too, has to do with my dad being moved into memory care, with being unable to visit him, with living with the possibility that I may not see him again, and when I do, that he likely won’t recognize me. I wrote about that on Medium too. It’s called Belated Valentine’s Day Card.
When I reflect upon this last year, there is so much to be grateful for. Two kids figured out how to get married during the pandemic. One in a tiny ceremony in the mountains, which was the perfect setting. Another, in a small family gathering where everyone got tested and then religiously quarantined for two weeks to be able to gather. One daughter got pregnant at the end of the year and we move into 2021 knowing it is already filled with the potential of new beginnings.
But watching my mom walk and walk and walk with only her grief accompanying her, building up a reservoir of resilience and being touched by the astounding compassion of my dad’s memory care facility — these are the reflections I will carry with me as proof of the beauty that grows right next to tragedy.
Deeply moving. Beautifully written. I go for a walk every day too, but not as long a walk as your mom. She’s an angel.
Thanks Doug. Walking is good for the soul.
How touching and heart felt written. I understand and agree your Mom is your hero, in fact, she is a hero to people like me that know this compeling story.
Thanks Nere. She and you perhaps have much in common.
This was both heartbreaking and uplifting. And you wrote it so well. Well done
Hi Marla – You know well the heartbreak…thanks for reaching out.