There are eight faded robin’s egg blue dining chairs that remain, an Edwardian sewing table, a massive bookcase, a coffee table constructed of pieces of aged wood from India, another smaller bookcase, and a Victorian corner “whatnot.” I can’t use them. Peeking through the dark red paint colour on the walls of Dad’s den is the previous mustard shade, hidden behind the corner armoire that used to live there. The pale yellow in the living room below where the silver sconces used to be, is greyed and unsightly. I have kept those sconces, I think. They should be in a moving box. Somewhere.
Losing parents is one of life's hardest passages. My parents in their wisdom and love gave away everything except their photos. My siblings and I were left with nothing to clean up, divvy up or argue over. Just pictures and memories to share and cherish.
Kristin, Your first description of their flat sped me to entering my empty family home for the first time after Dad had died there. Floods of tears. Over a decade of struggling with Mum's dementia. You are absolutely correct that emptying the family home is reduced to shifting objects - both beloved and worth trashing. Driving back to Toronto in my car stuffed with treasures. Parking at every rest stop to sleep. Thanks for this heart-stopping piece.
I love a story which resonates with my own experiences and emotions. You paint such evocative images with your words (echoes of caregivers gentle melodic Tagalog, the mustard shade peeking through the dark red paint...). I lament along with you that lives are reduced to objects, and marvel at your enduring those 18 years of metamorphosis. Thank you for sharing this heartfelt piece, Kristin. (And now I have to look up Korean television series!)
Kristin, what Leaped from the pages were “the questions” (which appear in a couple of versions in the book) - what do you understand about your health situation? What are your fears? What are your goals? What would make today a good day for you? (even if it’s only some chocolate ice cream!) These questions place the reality in perspective. They are about setting boundaries and letting go, understanding nobody lives forever! In so many situations aggressively treating a situation can be very destructive of the relationships that could otherwise nurture our later years, our last days. Gawande writes so well and makes the argument so clearly that we all should be reading “Being Mortal” and making sure our kids read it. It hits home because it’s the story of his personal coming to understand that dying is to be cherished!
Thank you, Kristin, for bravely sharing your heartfelt story. I hope the simplicity of the collage captures the profound emotions conveyed in your writing.
I'm so glad you wrote this piece and chose to share it here. Your realization (common to all of us, I believe) that the most meaningful caring is in the loving, not the pill dispensing. And the loving is a two-way street. It gives the other person an opportunity to love in return which is more or less all she an do. This turns out to be true for all relationships in some way.
This is so touching and such a familiar refrain for anyone with aging parents -- whether they have dementia or not. We are too busy with the grocery list of to do items for them and don't make time for one more cribbage game or just sitting holding hands on the deck.
How courageous of you to have made your experience ours, to have put words laden with powerful emotion for our own consideration and reflection. Thank you.
What a beautiful and heartfelt recollection that is so familiar to many of us..
Losing parents is one of life's hardest passages. My parents in their wisdom and love gave away everything except their photos. My siblings and I were left with nothing to clean up, divvy up or argue over. Just pictures and memories to share and cherish.
Kristin, Your first description of their flat sped me to entering my empty family home for the first time after Dad had died there. Floods of tears. Over a decade of struggling with Mum's dementia. You are absolutely correct that emptying the family home is reduced to shifting objects - both beloved and worth trashing. Driving back to Toronto in my car stuffed with treasures. Parking at every rest stop to sleep. Thanks for this heart-stopping piece.
Wonderful Kris . This resonates with so many of us !
So touching and so true. Thank you.
A beautifully written story of life’s changes, of loss and regret. Thank you. I appreciate and resonate with the feelings you have shared.
I love a story which resonates with my own experiences and emotions. You paint such evocative images with your words (echoes of caregivers gentle melodic Tagalog, the mustard shade peeking through the dark red paint...). I lament along with you that lives are reduced to objects, and marvel at your enduring those 18 years of metamorphosis. Thank you for sharing this heartfelt piece, Kristin. (And now I have to look up Korean television series!)
Kristin, what Leaped from the pages were “the questions” (which appear in a couple of versions in the book) - what do you understand about your health situation? What are your fears? What are your goals? What would make today a good day for you? (even if it’s only some chocolate ice cream!) These questions place the reality in perspective. They are about setting boundaries and letting go, understanding nobody lives forever! In so many situations aggressively treating a situation can be very destructive of the relationships that could otherwise nurture our later years, our last days. Gawande writes so well and makes the argument so clearly that we all should be reading “Being Mortal” and making sure our kids read it. It hits home because it’s the story of his personal coming to understand that dying is to be cherished!
Thank you, Kristin, for bravely sharing your heartfelt story. I hope the simplicity of the collage captures the profound emotions conveyed in your writing.
Thank you Prue for your gentle and healing words.
I'm so glad you wrote this piece and chose to share it here. Your realization (common to all of us, I believe) that the most meaningful caring is in the loving, not the pill dispensing. And the loving is a two-way street. It gives the other person an opportunity to love in return which is more or less all she an do. This turns out to be true for all relationships in some way.
This is so touching and such a familiar refrain for anyone with aging parents -- whether they have dementia or not. We are too busy with the grocery list of to do items for them and don't make time for one more cribbage game or just sitting holding hands on the deck.
Definitely touched a nerve. Thank you.
Beautiful writing....so moving. Thanks for sharing such a thoughtful piece.
So moving.
Simply brilliant, Kristin!!
How courageous of you to have made your experience ours, to have put words laden with powerful emotion for our own consideration and reflection. Thank you.