Saturday, January 14, 2012

No, I am not manic depressive, I just play one when blogging

For those who have followed my blog for any significant amount of time, you know I am not the most prolific blogger in the blogosphere, nor am I a very reliable source for those who need a daily fix of seething rage. In fact anyone with even the slightest familiarity with my blogging habits might conclude I suffer from something akin to bipolar affective disorder in that I go through periods where you'd think I dropped off the face of the map never to be heard from again and other periods where I am darn right chatty and in your face when it comes to blogging.

Thankfully, I can assure you I am not suffering from any mental disorders that I know of, but as is the case with most of us, life can throw some pretty good curve balls and get in the way of even the best laid plans (to be a prolific blogger aiming a non-stop barrage of incendiary seething rage at anyone who dares to stand in my gay son's way of being a first-class citizen of this great country). And the curve ball I am dealing with right now was actually thrown back in August of 2007 when my mother fell and sustained a TBI (traumatic brain injury) that was far more serious than I realized at the time. I actually blogged about it here when it first happened and before I knew what that fall was going to mean down the road.

My mother was married and living down in Tucson at the time she fell. Her husband (of 7 years) was going downhill fast and very dependent on her. He was fast descending into his own world of dementia and alcoholism, making what she had hoped would be their golden years more of a nightmare than a fairy tale. He died while she was up here in Scottsdale going through the long and arduous task of rehabilitation and getting some semblance of her past life back.  It was not a great situation, but one she handled the same way she handled all the challenges in her life and there were plenty of them. She has always been an extremely strong and very capable woman who knew how to handle tough situations. She proved that early on when she ended up a single mom supporting and raising 5 young children and doing a damn good job of it. She amazed everyone who knew her with her beauty, her brains, her independence, her strength, and her amazing gut instincts and 6th sense about things. She was and is my Rock of Gibraltar and my best friend. We were and are very very close. I say "was" and "is" because the dynamics have changed. Now it is me who needs to be my mother's Rock of Gibraltar.

My mother has been diagnosed with dementia. She is still doing well, but the future is a great big unknown. I am scared. I am devastated. And I am mourning. I am watching the mom I have loved and adored die a slow-motion death and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Our roles have been reversed and it is me she leans on and me who will take care of her as she slowly loses her independence and her mind. And I would have it no other way.

It hurts so damn much. I don't want to lose her. But there is nothing I can do to stop what is going on. The wheels were set in motion back in 2007.

And so, I will continue to blog in a manic depressive fashion. I started this blog as an outlet for my intense anger at things I thought I could not change and I will continue to use this blog as an outlet for my intense anger at things I cannot change. There will just be a whole lot more stuff fueling my emotional outbursts. So please bear with me.  
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3 comments:

Ray Tyler said...

You are absolutely correct in saying that as your parents age and suffer dementia roles change. In the last two years I have experienced this twice with both of my parents-in-law.
Good on you for accepting this change. Your commitment to fulfilling your new role is a tribute to you. All the best to you as you do so.

Seething Mom said...

Thank you Ray. Your kind words and validation are very much appreciated, especially since I feel I have been in denial of what has been going on right in front of my eyes for at least a year.

Jarred said...

My thoughts are with you. I cannot imagine many things that would be worse than watching a loved one suffering dementia.