I remember picking my children up from school only to find them screaming or crying as soon as the car door closed. They held it all together while they were in the public eye, but as soon as they were in the comfort of their caring parent, they dropped all pretenses and collapsed into a heap of vulnerability. The Peel
The same happens with Ben. He holds it together while spending the day with caregivers or his wife. Thunderfoot gains little ground unless Ben is sick or especially tired. As soon as the door clicks closed behind the caregiver's departure, Thunderfoot emerges and unleashes all kinds of wrath and fury toward his loved ones.
“It’s one hell of an expression of love,” says Ken. But, he takes a deep breath, reminds himself of what is true about dementia, and stands strong as the storm hits against the wall. After awhile, the storm subsides. “I’m sorry, Dad. I hear you and I love you. I don’t know how to make it go away. I’m doing the best I can.” There’s not much more to say beyond that. The Fruit We are sorry. This is not the way it’s supposed to be. We do hear him. We hear the emotions behind the words. The words don’t coincide with reality. We do love him. Thirty minutes after his blow-up, after a walk and a talk, he remembers how much he loves us, too. We don’t know how to make it go away. Nor do the doctors or anyone else. We are all doing the best we can. Our confidence comes from knowing this. Thunderfoot might not notice, but Ben does and God does. God, I long for the day when the world will be made new. Thank you for the hope we have in that day. Thank you for the reminder that these days are not the end of the story. “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying: “Look! The residence of God is among human beings. He will live among them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them. 4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will not exist any more—or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the former things have ceased to exist.”
(Revelation 21:3-4 NET)
Comments