When my husband got his fatal diagnosis some twenty years later, I once again rarely asked for help. We were proud people, raised to be strong and able to rise to any occasion.
I have become a writer and am now making these little videos. Alone. Lori Lothian has helped me to get started. But I still am loathe to ask for help.
Why is asking for help so hard? In my independence I have pushed away people that might have helped me. In my pride I isolated myself.
But the light of awareness is still on. I just turned on Dr. Oz and Kimberly Williams was talking about her mother’s dementia. She said her father became a mere shadow of himself while he determinedly cared for her. Wow. I know the feeling. I know the feeling.
And now a friend of mine has learned her husband has dementia. Caregivers go through hell. We should learn to ask for help because people want to give it. But we pull back, not wanting to bother people. That was my excuse. I didn’t want to bother people with my grieving.
When I wrote of it in Yahoo groups I was often pushed aside in favor of advaitic discussions that bordered on ridiculous. I sat alone and cried. And now, for what it’s worth, I would like to give them all a giant raspberry. They didn’t know. They just thought they knew.
Love alone knows. And it rarely goes around explaining itself. It is too busy being what it does best. Loving.