Delusional Faith

When I was in grade 5 we had to write and deliver speeches as a part of English.  Not my favourite English assignment. I remember sitting on the floor in one of the pods listening to a classmate talk about her grandmother receiving a letter from the Queen on her 100th birthday.  I thought it was so cool that I decided - in that moment - to live to be 100 too.

It’s never occurred to me that I wouldn’t.  Like somehow that decision made it so.

The truth is - I still don’t doubt I won’t.  That's just when it will be time. 

With the exception of terminal illness or heart attacks my family has a pattern of living well into their 90’s. Sadly, there is also a pattern of dementia.  After witnessing this a few times, this is a door I’m comfortable passing on. 

Forgetting who people are, being afraid, feeling lost inside your head, your own mind … It looks isolating … lonely.  My family lash out - the control thing, I come by it naturally.  Back to the wall … they fight to maintain control, independence and maybe even themselves.  While logic says this isn’t them … this isn’t personal … it still takes energy - the walls go up, so you don’t feel attacked … the heart breaks a little as you see them now but you knew them when … They are still human, they still matter, they still deserve love, empathy and care … It's a tricky thing dementia.  

A friend’s father has it … he had to mourn him, even though he’s still alive - he’s no longer his father in that the person he knew is gone.  Someone else I know experienced this with his mother.  After she passed away and he was working on the eulogy he realized how much of her last few years had shaped his memory of her … his feelings towards her.  He didn’t love that.  

It doesn’t just steal who a person is … it can steal who they were, how they are remembered and the quality of care they get. 

My grandmother was maybe 5 feet … maybe.  She was maybe 100 pounds … maybe.  Her lashing out as a means of protecting her independence, in an effort to maintain control over her mind - a battle she’s losing and knows she's losing - to preserve her dignity and her sense of self … that’s a different battle then if it were my father or my brother … who are 6 feet and 190 pounds.  That fight … is a reflection of the things that make them who they are, their strength and resilience but when dementia kicks in … that fight can impact quality of care or the type of care … it’s no longer grit - it’s resistance … it’s no longer good - it’s bad.

Point of clarification: my father and my brother do not have dementia and are only being used as a reference point.

I understand the brain is complex.  I don’t understand an unwillingness to invest in prevention.

I am also unwilling to accept that this is a consequence of old age.

I hear - all the time - it’s just old age … It's what happens when you get old … I hear it, I don’t say it … I won’t say it.  I choose to believe that I can live - not have a pulse, a heartbeat - I can live until I’m 100 and one night go to sleep one last time. Period. I don’t allow myself to believe anything else. 

I choose instead to have delusional faith - an illogical knowing. 

I have this about a lot of things … the big things … the important things.  Well - important to me!

It’s not a story I tell myself.  It’s deeper.  So much deeper. 

I take steps to protect that knowing - but it’s one area I don’t obsess.  I have control of a tiny fraction - just enough to believe I have control - the reality is, I don’t.  

That’s where delusional faith comes in. 

While that faith doesn’t help the people I know who are hurting.  It doesn’t cure them, or reverse their symptoms.  Hopefully it helps the people around me - the ones I might last out at, I might hurt trying to protect and maintain my independence, my mind, my life and my dignity.  While I wouldn’t wish dementia on anyone - I also wouldn’t wish caring for a loved one with dementia on anyone.  While one fights from fear the other fights to care through loss or a premature grief.  So, I will protect them.  

I am one of a pack of people who help to take care of my aunt.  I never know who I will get when I call … sometimes she’s her - excited to hear from me, see me, to talk … sometimes it’s the exact opposite.  Today, she was excited.  I’m taking her for groceries and to run a few errands, then I’ll grab her some take-out - chicken and mashed potatoes.  She loves that meal.  It also ensures she has a warm meal and some protein.  The idea of having it for dinner makes her happy - so today we have wins all around. 

Always grateful for those days, those visits, those calls. 

They say it takes a village to raise a child … I think it takes a village to live.  No matter your age, your circumstance … you need the village.

Thankfully I am a part of an amazing village.  More than one if I’m being honest.  They are perfectly imperfect and exactly what I need.

(Even on the days I don’t believe that or they are trying my patience or criticizing my life choices etc.) 

I have a plan for them too … to ensure we’re positioned to look out for and after each other. 

Delusional faith … I don’t know how, or when … I just know …