“I’m very sad, dad died. What did he die from? Did we bury him? I don’t want to be buried. They’ve unburied the dead and found scratch marks on the inside of the coffin—so make sure I’m dead. Am I dead now? Can I live with you? Is your father in heaven or hell? I think he’s an angelito--no an angelon, because he was big."
This is what my mom says to me every morning when she wakes up and throughout the day since my father died two months ago. She doesn’t cry or stay in a mood for more than a few minutes, but she’ll repeat this throughout the day--recover, repeat, recover, repeat again. She’s been more quiet and instrospective since he’s been gone. Like all of us when coming face to faced with the death, she’s examining her own mortality and fears, but for her it’s a jumble of confusion in her mixed up world. She fears being kicked out, or sent to a nursing home or begs me to take care of her and each time it breaks my heart. The next second she’ll start singing a nursery song or demanding her beloved coconut cake.
Telling a peson with dementia that a family member has died can be tricky. I know some spouses will react as if hearing the news for the first time and be inconsolable only to forget and go through immense pain every time they hear the news again. For how long do we keep putting our loved ones through that torture of reliving the worst moment of their lives? My mother accepted my dad's death with momentary sadness then moved on; if the news would have caused her major pain, I was ready to have my dad forever at the hospital, in the bathroom or watching t.v. in the other room. Who would want to relive the pain of hearing your partner is dead over and over again?? Cruel, I think.
I had been making up stories, and gasp, lying to my mom to keep her calm and happy for years before I learned the official term: Therapueatic Fibs. Through support groups, I learned that the issue of lying to own's loved one was a big source of guilt and contention in the world of dementia caregivers, and I can respect people having feeling uncomfortable about lying; I embrace it wholeheartedly. Maybe it's my ambiguous morality (I was raised in Las Vegas, after all) or my thespian training?? In fact, I don't even consider it lying at all. My mom inhabits a different world and there are different ethics and mores in that culture. In the dementia world, providing security and peace is my primary obligation and I am happy to fulfill it.
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