I feel like a knife is in my gut slowly twisting. The hospice social worker came today to try to sort out how to get care for Mike when he runs out of time at Casa. This involves finding and sending all kinds of paperwork. It has fallen to me to do it. So Im in the process of scanning it into my computer so I can email it to the people who want it.
The social worker talked to Mike about the fact that when his friends found him in his condo incoherent he had a cup full of pills in his hand. She asked him if he had been thinking about taking his own life. He said no. Then she told him how he should talk to someone about it if he feels that way so he can get help. She asked who he would talk to. He said his friends and us. Keep in mind that his speech is agonizingly slow. So we had to wait a long time for him to answer. She just kept pressing on the need to be able to talk to us and make his peace with us. We already did that in my opinion. Anyway, I dont think his mind is clear enough to say anything meaningful to us. So, lets see.. Mike, dont commit suicide so you can have a long slow death while your parents watch helplessly. Thats the gist of it. Anyway he doesnt have the means or the mental clarity to do that.
She went on and on about this. Finally I said, 'Im finished here' and went outside and broke into tears. Then she and Frank came out to try to soothe me. I got in my car and sobbed uncontrollably. Finally I got out of the car and told her, 'Your job is to find a safe place for Mike. Do it.' then I got back in the car and locked the door and cried some more. Frank wanted to drive me home. But I waited until I got it together and drove myself home.
So here I am with a knife in my stomach turning and slowly turning, scanning Mike's documents and getting them ready to email to the person who wants them
This is just the pits!!!! I feel like there is a huge wet blanket over me and no matter how hard I try to throw it off, It just goes right back over me. Will I ever be free of Mike?????????????
Michael, My Son This blog is to chronicle my son, Michael's battle with alcoholism and bipolar disorder Michael passed away on June 4, 2011 of acute alcoholic liver failure at the age of 42
This is Steve....
ReplyDeleteI spoke this morning to 70 seniors...many of them 85 and over. My topic was "Putting First Things First" and I shared how our brain LOCKS onto what we deem as important in our lives. It asks no questions. When we lock onto this or that, the brain does to.
I then talked about what Dr. Martin Seligmann from U of Pennsylvania has learned about "Learned Optimism" over the last 30 years, and that the key to being optimistic is what you lock onto when HARD THINGS HAPPEN.
I thought of you, Sal, as I prepared this presentation, and talked to you over the phone this morning about sharing your story about Mike, and you immediately gave me permission to "tell it all..so perhaps others may be helped."
I first showed your before-and-after weight-loss picture, and then the picture of Mike and you standing together in the kitchen.
I then told about Mike's condition, and how you and Frank have had to watch him do this to himself...not only now but over so many years.
When I read part of yesterday's blog which you7 wrote, each of the 70 were so quiet and still...their attention glued to each word you wrote.
I ended with. "Anyway, I’m home now. The sun is shining and there is a soft breeze coming in the window. My kitty Dottie came in from outside and is curled up beside me on the bed. I think I'll take a nap."
I then very quietly told them what you are doing, Sal. First...you are DECIDING that this will not be an umbrella over the rest of your life. Second...you are DECIDING to get your life back...as soon as you can.
When I was done...there were a lot of moist eyes in that room. And a professional psychologist approached me afterward to say that MOST of the people in that room have experienced what you have experienced, or are experiencing it now. A lot of people came up afterward to quietly thank me for sharing.
So I am thanking you, Sal.
Love....Steve