Looks Can Be Deceiving

I often wonder if I should really play up the disabled card and get a few perks. Yet I know that’s not how I operate, and I opt for the ‘try to look normal’ approach, and I shove all the disabilities aside. I’ve seen how both can work against me.

My kids are very aware that I’m becoming far less able to accomplish simple routines. It isn’t discussed, but they just step in when needed. I also detect their shying away from any discussion about it. I guess that’s normal – kids really have a hard time seeing their parents decline. I swore my father really wasn’t that bad after he suffered two strokes. I turned a blind eye to all the routines he could no longer finish. I preferred to think that he had a small setback, and he’d be back to himself one day. I refused to accept how seriously ill he was, and when he died, I was devastated.

I did the same thing with my mother at first. I couldn’t allow myself to see that she was really slipping, and that her dementia was taking over her life. I got angry – how dare she get old, how could she be acting this way, and where had our close relationship gone? Once I finally accepted that the mother I knew was not this person, and when I came to realize that things would never be the same, I started to deal with the situation. I see her nearly every day now, and I look into her blank eyes. Most of the time she knows me, but at other times, she’s in another world.

I think my children have had to go through similar processes, and I may have added fuel to that fire. By pushing myself, and trying to keep things as normal as possible, I probably built up a false hope for them. I couldn’t continue the charade indefinitely, and now I try to act more realistically, for all of our benefits.  It’s sad, but that’s life.

I may have also led others down the same path of denial. At my mother’s nursing home, they know I’m disabled, but they don’t understand how bad it is. Yesterday, they asked me to help my mother since she can no longer use her hands. They were painting brush strokes in rhythm with Strauss waltzes. I’m right handed by nature, but I’ve become left handed by necessity, and now even that side is becoming less functional. So, instead of telling the activity staff I couldn’t help, I just dived right in. Having been a painter in the past, I understood the components, but now I need more than just knowledge. In my mind, I can see the color mix, I can feel the way a brush should execute strokes, and I can envision the finished product. But what I get as a result is far different from what I imagined. Of course, it looked much better than what the residents were producing, and the staff admired it. But I kept wishing I hadn’t shown myself how bad I’ve become.

So, in the end, I still keep thinking – should I still be so vain as to not allow others to see my weaknesses? Should I continue to pretend? Remember the words in “Whistle a Happy Tune?” When I fool the people, I fear I fool myself as well. I moved the comma to show my thinking on it.

Peace,

Muff