Thanks for sharing, Pam. Now that Alice has passed, I relate especially to this passage from your post: "I’m starting to dig my way out. One closet and cabinet at a time, I’m clearing a path to whatever comes next." Still more digging to do on my schedule today. I'm tidying the kitchen as best I can, preparing for friends who will be attending a backyard ceremony on Sunday, to bless the tree I've planted in Alice's honor (to be fertilized by the soil from her composted body).
Yes, thank you, Pam. From our back deck I can almost touch the young magnolia that has become "the Alice tree." I have kept up with your posts about your caregiving journey. They helped me on my own.
Downsizing is somehow magic. I’m convinced it is. Because every time I do it I feel like my actual spirit levels up somehow into a formerly unrealized clarity.
I hope you can be gentle with yourself through the process ❤️
Thank you. And I absolutely agree that there's a spiritual component to freeing ourselves from the weight of physical stuff. I just haven't had the time or energy to lift myself up, but that's about to change.
I lived a very similar life to yours. My husband had Lewy-Body Dementia and his last year was spent in memory care as well. Sadly a low-income one, so I dedicated myself to visiting 5-6 times/week after work and on weekends. He died last September.
I have yet to clear out many of his things, though I did do one purge of his better things following his death. Now it’s all the other stuff, including things he packed from his parents! Yikes. (Always do better if I have a friend’s help!)
As to me: I am only now beginning to be able to imagine/create the life I want for myself at 63. The catalyst was a 3 week excursion to New Zealand so I could literally step away from my life in its entirety and gain some perspective. Best investment I could have made! Now I am trying out different things and noticing what nourishes me and/or brings me joy.
That long break from regular life was a great idea--pulling away from the familiar always provides some perspective. I'm 62 and, if my family history is any indication, I have 20+ years of life ahead of me. No idea what they'll look like, but I'll figure it out. ❤️
The quiet courage it takes to start clearing it, not with drama, but one cabinet at a time.
Your neighbor who got rid of the entertainment center the week after her husband died she understood something most people take years to learn. You're still the one living here. Live it your way.
I hope you find exactly the life that's built for you.
One closet and cabinet at a time. That’s exactly the bite size that will eventually get that elephant eaten. When I read the word “accepted” in your post it made me teary. I’m not sure why. But I’m glad for you, Pam. And sad that you have to do all this. Sending hugs across the miles. May the hope and promise of a fresh beginning bring you solace.
I read your snarky comment about cleaning the bathroom and sighed. My brain is full of those snarky thoughts. I usually let them land. Take a deep breath. Ask Jesus to forgive me and give me strength to do that very thing that caused the snark. We’re not close to memory care yet—only 4 years in—but after reading this, I do think we will plant two trees here in this place ready for our ashes. Thanks to Thomas for that lovely thought….
Carol, that is exactly the way I dealt with my own snarky thoughts. Memory care means doing less of the physical work of caregiving, but the emotional and spiritual work doesn't change a bit. Hugs to you. ❤️
My husband has Parkinson’s, We are 41/2 years into this journey. Cognitively he is fine - for now. But his physical decline is noticeable to me and others. Our kids are in denial. They don’t want to believe that dad is declining. I find that I get angry sometimes because I do everything in the house. Every single thing. I visited a 93 year old friend whose wife had dementia and who died a few years ago. I vented to Ralph about how I was feeling. Ralph said two words to me: be patient. Wise words from someone who had walked the walk. I have to keep telling myself that when I clean up after my husband. It’s not his fault. It’s just bad luck and I have to be patient with him and with myself.
It's really hard to find yourself doing everything when you've lived in partnership with someone for a long time. It took me years to get to a point where I could accept that Mike wasn't being thoughtless or manipulative--he literally just couldn't do (or couldn't understand how to do) things he had done for as long as I'd known him. That knowledge doesn't sink in overnight. Be sure to give yourself the same grace you're giving him. ❤️
I put my wife into assisted living last September. I, too, thought I would make changes to the house and bring her home. We (my kids and I) were going to bring her home just prior to Thanksgiving. We knew that she would be entering home hospice care. Alas, she died two days before we were to bring her home.
I struggle with whether I did things right. In my rational mind, I know I did everything possible in a way that was good for both of us. But even knowing that and being told that by family, friends and doctors does not banish the feeling that I may have betrayed her.
It's really hard, Larry, and that is true no matter what you do--because the only "right" choice is the one that would make them well again. Sadly, that choice isn't always an option.
I'm so sorry for your loss. Peace to you and your family. ❤️
I am a packrat AND sentimental. Thank you for the reminder that stuff does not need to be kept to be remembered. I teared up when I read about the plastic bowls and plates. It's the little things that bring up such vivid memories. Sending love and light, and a really big hug across the miles.
Please do figure out what would make you happy, and do that thing. My mom is 88 and has dementia. She spent the last years that she could have been happy caring for her exhausting and demanding husband. Now it's too late.
My mom cared for my dad for many years before he died--then died herself four years later, mostly because she'd given up on living without him. That will not be my story.
My Mom did exactly that as well. I’d hoped she’d feel liberated and free to have the life she wanted, but they were too enmeshed and she suddenly grieved so deeply she was lost. She passed just two months ago.
Sometimes, “just think about it” isn’t really very much different than doing something. I know there is a difference but it isn’t always experienced as different. This is particularly true when we’re under a lot of stress.
I just moved to a condo at 65, but the china! I inherited my mom's china and my grandma's china and their bougie, bougie china love. I don't really use it, but damn, I can't get rid of it. We brought it out on holidays, and it was a constant in our weird single-parent-in-the- 1960s-70s life. I remember the shabby post-divorce tract apartment, and the birthday party where the 8 yos had cake on Limoge plates, each of us with our own individual flower. I can't sell those plates.
It's wonderful that you have those memories! I have my mom's china --which, to my recollection, we used exactly once--purchased while my dad was stationed in France. Those dishes were part of their story, so I'm not sure how to part with them (even though I don't want to carry them with me forever and make them my kids' problem.)
I also have two complete sets of silver plated flatware from different family members. I have no emotional attachment to that stuff, fortunately.
Pam, this is so clear, and so spot on for the place you are. Thank you for sharing it.
It models for all of us middling aged women to begin asking the question: Do I want this?
I doubt that many of us have asked ourselves that in awhile.
I remember a year when my birthday came around and my daughter asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday… my mind was blank. Right then and there, I began practicing with small things, asking myself “what do I want?”
What clothes do I want to wear? What colors do I want in my home? What type of friends do I want? The list began small, but grew into me learning more about myself. Once I began this path, I started looking towards being more congruent, that who I was on the outside matched who I was in the inside.
There doesn’t ever have to be a grand plan… you don’t have to decide anything until it arrives in your brain as the time to make a change. Unless it does, avoid allowing anyone to rush you.
The key for me was relearning to ask myself what I wanted. I was a good Mother, I was a good daughter and good sister, and a good wife. I’m content with those choices for those years. Now it’s remembering to ask myself small questions every day.
Sally, I love this! I've spent so many years focused outwardly that this inward turn has been surprisingly challenging. Dementia care has changed me in ways I didn't fully acknowledge until I started to ask myself who I am now and realized the honest answer was "I actually don't know." I'll figure it out--but, as you've noted, that will be a slow and intentional process.
Thanks for sharing, Pam. Now that Alice has passed, I relate especially to this passage from your post: "I’m starting to dig my way out. One closet and cabinet at a time, I’m clearing a path to whatever comes next." Still more digging to do on my schedule today. I'm tidying the kitchen as best I can, preparing for friends who will be attending a backyard ceremony on Sunday, to bless the tree I've planted in Alice's honor (to be fertilized by the soil from her composted body).
Thomas, I love the way Alice is becoming another beautiful part of the place you shared with her. ❤️
Yes, thank you, Pam. From our back deck I can almost touch the young magnolia that has become "the Alice tree." I have kept up with your posts about your caregiving journey. They helped me on my own.
Downsizing is somehow magic. I’m convinced it is. Because every time I do it I feel like my actual spirit levels up somehow into a formerly unrealized clarity.
I hope you can be gentle with yourself through the process ❤️
Thank you. And I absolutely agree that there's a spiritual component to freeing ourselves from the weight of physical stuff. I just haven't had the time or energy to lift myself up, but that's about to change.
I lived a very similar life to yours. My husband had Lewy-Body Dementia and his last year was spent in memory care as well. Sadly a low-income one, so I dedicated myself to visiting 5-6 times/week after work and on weekends. He died last September.
I have yet to clear out many of his things, though I did do one purge of his better things following his death. Now it’s all the other stuff, including things he packed from his parents! Yikes. (Always do better if I have a friend’s help!)
As to me: I am only now beginning to be able to imagine/create the life I want for myself at 63. The catalyst was a 3 week excursion to New Zealand so I could literally step away from my life in its entirety and gain some perspective. Best investment I could have made! Now I am trying out different things and noticing what nourishes me and/or brings me joy.
That long break from regular life was a great idea--pulling away from the familiar always provides some perspective. I'm 62 and, if my family history is any indication, I have 20+ years of life ahead of me. No idea what they'll look like, but I'll figure it out. ❤️
The quiet courage it takes to start clearing it, not with drama, but one cabinet at a time.
Your neighbor who got rid of the entertainment center the week after her husband died she understood something most people take years to learn. You're still the one living here. Live it your way.
I hope you find exactly the life that's built for you.
Thank you, Neb. My neighbor is my inspiration!
Would mean a lot if you could give some feedback on my latest!
https://everythingithought.substack.com/p/nobody-tells-you-about-that-part
One closet and cabinet at a time. That’s exactly the bite size that will eventually get that elephant eaten. When I read the word “accepted” in your post it made me teary. I’m not sure why. But I’m glad for you, Pam. And sad that you have to do all this. Sending hugs across the miles. May the hope and promise of a fresh beginning bring you solace.
As always, Patricia, thank for reading and offering a virtual hug.
I read your snarky comment about cleaning the bathroom and sighed. My brain is full of those snarky thoughts. I usually let them land. Take a deep breath. Ask Jesus to forgive me and give me strength to do that very thing that caused the snark. We’re not close to memory care yet—only 4 years in—but after reading this, I do think we will plant two trees here in this place ready for our ashes. Thanks to Thomas for that lovely thought….
Carol, that is exactly the way I dealt with my own snarky thoughts. Memory care means doing less of the physical work of caregiving, but the emotional and spiritual work doesn't change a bit. Hugs to you. ❤️
My husband has Parkinson’s, We are 41/2 years into this journey. Cognitively he is fine - for now. But his physical decline is noticeable to me and others. Our kids are in denial. They don’t want to believe that dad is declining. I find that I get angry sometimes because I do everything in the house. Every single thing. I visited a 93 year old friend whose wife had dementia and who died a few years ago. I vented to Ralph about how I was feeling. Ralph said two words to me: be patient. Wise words from someone who had walked the walk. I have to keep telling myself that when I clean up after my husband. It’s not his fault. It’s just bad luck and I have to be patient with him and with myself.
It's really hard to find yourself doing everything when you've lived in partnership with someone for a long time. It took me years to get to a point where I could accept that Mike wasn't being thoughtless or manipulative--he literally just couldn't do (or couldn't understand how to do) things he had done for as long as I'd known him. That knowledge doesn't sink in overnight. Be sure to give yourself the same grace you're giving him. ❤️
I put my wife into assisted living last September. I, too, thought I would make changes to the house and bring her home. We (my kids and I) were going to bring her home just prior to Thanksgiving. We knew that she would be entering home hospice care. Alas, she died two days before we were to bring her home.
I struggle with whether I did things right. In my rational mind, I know I did everything possible in a way that was good for both of us. But even knowing that and being told that by family, friends and doctors does not banish the feeling that I may have betrayed her.
It is hard. You are doing what has to be done.
It's really hard, Larry, and that is true no matter what you do--because the only "right" choice is the one that would make them well again. Sadly, that choice isn't always an option.
I'm so sorry for your loss. Peace to you and your family. ❤️
Sometimes downsizing is not about the stuff.
It is about proving to yourself you are still allowed to build a life around your own needs.
I am a packrat AND sentimental. Thank you for the reminder that stuff does not need to be kept to be remembered. I teared up when I read about the plastic bowls and plates. It's the little things that bring up such vivid memories. Sending love and light, and a really big hug across the miles.
I too felt sad and sentimental reading about the plastic bowls and plates,I too bought those for my husband when his health deteriorated
Thank you, Anne. I’ll take that hug.
Please do figure out what would make you happy, and do that thing. My mom is 88 and has dementia. She spent the last years that she could have been happy caring for her exhausting and demanding husband. Now it's too late.
My mom cared for my dad for many years before he died--then died herself four years later, mostly because she'd given up on living without him. That will not be my story.
My Mom did exactly that as well. I’d hoped she’d feel liberated and free to have the life she wanted, but they were too enmeshed and she suddenly grieved so deeply she was lost. She passed just two months ago.
I'm very sorry for your loss. It's hard to watch them disappear when you know they have other options.
Sometimes, “just think about it” isn’t really very much different than doing something. I know there is a difference but it isn’t always experienced as different. This is particularly true when we’re under a lot of stress.
I just moved to a condo at 65, but the china! I inherited my mom's china and my grandma's china and their bougie, bougie china love. I don't really use it, but damn, I can't get rid of it. We brought it out on holidays, and it was a constant in our weird single-parent-in-the- 1960s-70s life. I remember the shabby post-divorce tract apartment, and the birthday party where the 8 yos had cake on Limoge plates, each of us with our own individual flower. I can't sell those plates.
It's wonderful that you have those memories! I have my mom's china --which, to my recollection, we used exactly once--purchased while my dad was stationed in France. Those dishes were part of their story, so I'm not sure how to part with them (even though I don't want to carry them with me forever and make them my kids' problem.)
I also have two complete sets of silver plated flatware from different family members. I have no emotional attachment to that stuff, fortunately.
Do not make any major decisions for one year - having helped nurse my parents, having helped my sister move three times - I think this good advice.
Thank you for that great post!
Pam, this is so clear, and so spot on for the place you are. Thank you for sharing it.
It models for all of us middling aged women to begin asking the question: Do I want this?
I doubt that many of us have asked ourselves that in awhile.
I remember a year when my birthday came around and my daughter asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday… my mind was blank. Right then and there, I began practicing with small things, asking myself “what do I want?”
What clothes do I want to wear? What colors do I want in my home? What type of friends do I want? The list began small, but grew into me learning more about myself. Once I began this path, I started looking towards being more congruent, that who I was on the outside matched who I was in the inside.
There doesn’t ever have to be a grand plan… you don’t have to decide anything until it arrives in your brain as the time to make a change. Unless it does, avoid allowing anyone to rush you.
The key for me was relearning to ask myself what I wanted. I was a good Mother, I was a good daughter and good sister, and a good wife. I’m content with those choices for those years. Now it’s remembering to ask myself small questions every day.
Sally, I love this! I've spent so many years focused outwardly that this inward turn has been surprisingly challenging. Dementia care has changed me in ways I didn't fully acknowledge until I started to ask myself who I am now and realized the honest answer was "I actually don't know." I'll figure it out--but, as you've noted, that will be a slow and intentional process.