Compassion

Sometimes I don't know all of what Voyageur is going through until she posts.  I get a little irritated that she hasn't been posting as often, although I don't really tell her that when talking.  I just nudge her to write.

Then I read a post like her last one and know.  She tells me some of what she has written, but not all.  Voyageur and I were pretty tight growing up, but sure as shit are a lot tighter now.  It's easier for me to have compassion for Mom, but I forget to have that same compassion for my sister.

I forget that she's in the trenches, face to face dealing with Mom and this crazy thing called dementia.  I talk to Mom and for the most part she still sounds like herself.  She repeats herself and the conversations are not complex, but I can tell it's Mom.  Voyageur gets to see the effects of the disease.  The eyes that don't have the sharpness, the stains on the shirt, the not brushed (nor sometimes washed) hair, the confused look.

She takes the calls - sometimes 3-4 or 5 calls in the morning, and more throughout the day.  Phone calls of wanting to go to the grocery store, to the bank, and more than anything just to have company.  Her husband understands and encourages her to see Mom, to go 'fix' the TV (find the remote, put batteries in the remote, make sure it's the right remote, turn the closed captioning off), to spend time with her.

It's easy to have compassion for the person who has dementia.  I forget to have compassion for my sister, Mom's primary caregiver.  I'm learning as we move through the path of dementia.  Well, my dear sister, this one's for you.  And hopefully soon we will have a home health care aide helping out.

Dreamer