He’s There But He’s Not: Losing a Loved One Before They are Gone
Flawed But Fearless is humbled to share our latest guest blog post from Natasha Baker. I’ve known Natasha for many years. We met as much younger women in the fast-paced world of PR and while we lost touch as careers changed and lives evolved, we stayed connected through social media and mutual friends. Natasha’s career has been a public one, most recently serving as editor of Dayton Magazine. But she had to take a step back when her husband of more than 20 years was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s.
As you read her post, I know it will resonate with you as it does with me. It reminds us all that as women we fill many roles for many people. Some of them fun; some of them challenging and some of them that show us who we are at our very core, demanding more than we think we have to give. We are all going through private battles in spite of our public lives.
By Guest Blogger Natasha Baker
It hit me hard sitting in a dark theatre watching the first act of Les Miserables. Unable to fill the empty seat beside me in advance, I spent the first part of the play glancing over at it, thinking about David.
Don’t get me wrong, David hates musicals. With a passion. As a long-time theatre goer, I always asked my daughter to go with me, because I knew what his reaction would be, “They sing instead of talk. Who does that?”
Even so, I came to a realization in that moment – David would never be able to attend any kind of show with me again. Our daughter’s recitals, the boys’ lacrosse games, and certainly not a musical. It was a blow that I felt to my core and caused silent tears to run down my face all the way through the second act.
It’s called ambiguous grief. It means to grieve for someone still physically with you, but psychologically gone. It is the kind of grief experienced by spouses of someone diagnosed with a disease like early onset Alzheimer’s.
The man I married 26 years ago is still standing right front of me. He sleeps in the same bed with me. He hugs our kids before they go to bed. He still says “I love you.”
He also goes into rages over the smallest things and walks out of family movie night because it overstimulates him. He forgets what day it is all day long and has to be reminded to take showers like my 12-year-old boys.
I feel so many emotions that I am sometimes overwhelmed myself.
Sadness for the eventual and much too soon loss of my husband and my children’s father. Rage that he has an illness with not only no cure, but no real way to treat. Guilt at having difficulty adjusting to being caregiver verses wife. Fear that I alone am now solely responsible for the financial and spiritual wellness of my family. Loneliness that I may live out the rest of my life without my partner, my friend, my lover.
While I still can’t imagine what it will feel like to lose him in the end, the incremental grief happening day-by-day is like taking a punch to gut over and over. Waking up in an empty bed will be exponentially hard. Waking up next to the man you love and hoping today is not the day he forgets who you are is terrifying.
Why they call it ‘ambiguous grief’ I really don’t know. There is nothing ambiguous about the loss I am feeling.
She is holding on,
but barely.
Gripping whatever she can
to keep it together for another day.
She doesn’t think about next week
or next month, just today.
That’s what she tells herself.
That’s how she’s gone this long.
Just keep it together,
today.
~ J.M. Storm
Editor’s Note: If you want to donate to the Baker family, here is the link.