Maybe I was too hasty thinking I could write an “after dementia” blog. All week I’ve struggled to write a third post for “…and carry on.” If I were a screen writer I’d say, when I lost my leading man, Peter, I lost my focus! But if Peter were here, his eyes would twinkle even as he said, “Stop whinging and carry on, Missus.” I can hear him now!

Carry on? I’ll carry on.

Sir Arthur Pinero, English playwright, 1855-1934.

A few months after my husband’s death  a good friend asked if I was relieved. I nodded. Awful to admit to that, I thought, but Peter’s long slog through the dementia swamp was a trial for both of us. He couldn’t express what he felt, but in the later stages, whenever I found him sitting, elbows on knees. head propped on his hands, I knew. “You’ve had enough,  haven’t you?” I’d ask, using his  words for “I’m fed up!” He didn’t understand what was wrong, only that he wasn’t himself anymore and he didn’t like it one bit. All I could do was make endless cups of tea—nice cuppa Rosy—and he’d be OK for a while.

My own relief came from the caregiver’s perspective. I didn’t want to lose him, of course not, but I’d been stretched as far as I could go. I saw  myself as a powdery old rubber band ready to crumble. No snap left. I made myself endless cuppas, but they’re only good in the moment. My friend acknowledged she’d felt the same when her mother died, also of dementia. Another friend, going through similar circumstances, confessed to feeling as if she were guilty of a crime. Her eyes were a deer’s eyes caught in headlights. I understand, I told her. It’s OK to feel that way.  Flimsy help, I knew. I began to dig through the files of articles and notes I’ve made over the years to find answers.

Then, a few days ago I came across a wonderful blog called “What’s your grief,”  written by Eleanor Haley and Litsa Williams. It’s a site for grieving people and those who support them personally and professionally.  It is an excellent resource. The following is excerpted from a post Haley wrote several years ago: “Relief after a death: the unspoken grief emotion.”  You can read the entire post here: https://whatsyourgrief.com/relief-after-a-death-the-unspoken-emotion

 “Although none of you want your loved one to die, it’s only human to feel relief when their pain and suffering comes to an end. It’s also human to feel a tinge of relief when the distress you felt as a result of having to watch your loved one struggle has [ended].  …As…common as the notion of relief is in grief, it seems [as if] grievers often [hang on to it] as though it’s a deep dark secret…relief feels like something they should be ashamed of, feels wrong or [perhaps] something they shouldn’t admit to. …People can experience many emotions at the same time, even emotions that seem at odds with another. “Mixed emotions” at their worst.

Those words were what I was trying to say from the top. 

Mixed emotions still trickle through my days. At last I realize that it’s OK to bask in the calm, pamper myself, read a book cover to cover in one sitting and, of course, always take time for a cup of Rosey. 

'Cup of Rosey Lea' is Cockney rhyming slang for cup of tea. 
‘Cup of Rosey Lea’ is Cockney rhyming slang for cup of tea. 

10 thoughts on “It’s OK to have mixed emotions.”

  1. My sisters and I experienced this relief, especially my older sister, as her main caregiver when she was in Assisted Living. I felt such shame when I left after my visit and I felt relief walking to my car to leave and then I’d see her in the window waiting for me to back out so she could see me and wave. I’d lower my window and stick my arm way out so she could see it. Then I’d cry all the way to the Thruway. I felt awful every single time. Thank you so much, as always.

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  2. Grief is such deep sorrow.
    Relief is the long, deep, slow breath that reassures you it is okay to breathe again.💕

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    1. Thank you, Fadia. I thought about you when I was writing this. Do see the ‘what’s your grief’ post in linked in my post. Thinking about you xx

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  6. Judy…when my mom her first attack of status asthmaticus…I thought that it was a temporary event..and was thankful. But less than 5 days later..she suffered a more serious event and she needed intubation. Trials of taking her off the ventilator became longer and longer and(being a nurse in Critical care ..I knew what that meant) & the doctor said..we have to do a tracheostomy. Days slipped into weeks, then months, and then she needed long term care. She went to a nursing /rehab where they could care for her. The once energetic, vibrant woman..was now reduced to a fearful lady slways clutching her trach tube. After a year, dhe came home…but not without 24 hour care. This placed my dad in a more stressful state..as before he would travel each day 45 min to visit with mom and I would go 2 days and my sister 2 days a week. It took a toll on all of us, but we wanted mom home. She remained home for 4 more years. She was still a vibrant woman..only now, tied to her ventilator. I went thru 2 times doing CPR on her..the last not being able to bring her back after she spent 5 more days in ICU. I sat next to her bed..holding her hand..and then I left to change my clothes..and she passed quietly..without her family present.it was the most difficult 5 years ever..
    I sought the consolation of our resident Sister Maureen.
    Then.. a year and 1/2 later..I lost my dad to Cancer after only only 5 months after diagnosis. It’s so hard…becoming an ‘orphan’ when your parents are only 65…not even reaching retirement age. I empathize with you with every blog you write..it gives me much solace to hear someone else is hurting

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    1. Thank you, Susie. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. Almost more than the heart can bear. ‘Carry on’ seems trite in your case,

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