For Better or For Worse

“You coming you stupid bastard?” Gram blurted out as she wheeled her way toward the door that leads outside in the back of the vending room in the Long Term unit.  “Come on, I’m going home!” she continued, partially twisting around in the wheelchair so that I knew she was addressing me. 

For the past couple of weeks, Gram’s been living up to the name that the first aide she encountered at Elmcroft Assisted Living affably gave her the day she arrived back in March of 2010.  “Spunky” stuck with her throughout her tenure at Elmcroft – not only in name, but also in demeanor.  But lately, she’s not only spunky; she’s been downright nasty, at least with me. 

One of the most amazing things I find about Alzheimer’s disease, is how Gram can look right at me but see someone else.  Granted, there are times that she sees me as Mikey, the little boy, and others that she sees me as Michael, the grown man, but in those cases, I’m still me.   But the times when she sees me as a completely different person, such as her dad, or her son, or as it was this past week, her husband - these times really amaze me.  She not only calls me by their names, but she also treats me the way she treated them.  It is very real to her and I have learned over the years to never try to argue these things.  It only upsets her.  I go with the flow.

To me, it’s clear that her comment above and her general nastiness toward me lately, were actually directed toward Pap, my grandfather and her husband – the person she saw when she first looked at me that night when I arrived and found her in the vending room.  That’s exactly how she talked to him – and him to her for that matter.  And the angry, hateful look on her face was typical of how she looked at Pap when she was angry. 

Gram and Pap were married 56 years when he died in June of 1994.  They bickered constantly.  I would best describe their marriage as a love- hate relationship, one characterized by lots of yelling.  “Why don’t you take a good suck on my ass,” was one of Pap’s favorite comebacks when Gram was screaming at him.  “Go to hell you son-of-a-bitch,” she would reply.  The words “Goddamn,” “son-of-a-bitch” and “shit” flowed as naturally out of Gram’s mouth as they might out of a truck driver’s.  (They still do).  There was just an emphasis and loudness added to them when arguing with Pap, which was often.   Perhaps the funniest part of their arguments was when one or the other didn’t hear what was said and would go off screaming and ranting about what they thought they heard, only to get even angrier when they found out they were screaming at the other about something that wasn’t even said.  When Pap became bedridden and would remain that way the last 10 years of his life, the words, “I’ll kill you, you son-of-a-bitch,” could often be heard coming out of Gram’s mouth as she catered to his every need and cared for him around the clock – even though in many ways, he was perfectly capable of doing for himself.  His general laziness, constant demands and disregard for her needs would get her fuming.  Once, when he was trying to manipulate her in his usual way -by saying he wished he would die- she surprised him.  “I wish I would just die," he whined.  “Me too!” she snapped.  She didn’t mean it; at least I don’t think she did.  Another time, she got so frustrated; she grabbed the pillow and held it over his face as if she was going to smother him.  He really was a piece of work.

Nonetheless, throughout their marriage and despite their bickering, Gram took her wedding vows very seriously.  “In sickness” was underscored in Gram’s marriage.  Pap was often sick and as much as she may have hated it at times, Gram was devoted and always there taking care of him.  During the many, many times he was hospitalized at St. Francis hospital, Gram, who never got a driver’s license, would find her way to the hospital by bus or whatever to be by his side.  Often she was getting a bus there after working a long day herself.  She would sit religiously at that hospital until visiting hours were over.  Even though the time was spent bickering, she was there.  It’s doubtful to me that Pap would have done the same had the situation been reversed.  The night Pap died, he did so shortly after Gram had left, which was a few minutes before visiting hours were over.   When I got the call and hunted her down to tell her of his passing, she responding immediately by saying, “I should have stayed.  I shouldn't have left early.”

We used to joke with Gram that she was keeping Pap alive so she could keep his pension coming.  There may have been some truth to that, since Pap, who had a very nice pension from his job, chose to take the entire distribution while he was alive rather than leave a portion for Gram to receive after his death.  “I’m taking everything I can get while I’m alive,” he used to say.  Gram’s income was cut in half when Pap died. 

Gram told me once that if things were, back then, like they were today, she would have divorced Pap.  I wonder.

Even today, Gram will sometimes say, "I have to get home.  Daddy's gonna be mad if I don't make supper." (She often referred to Pap as 'Daddy').  She was an old school wife who took that role very seriously.

'Complete'

From October 6, 2014

Those who know me well, know that my life is an open book.  What I’m about to share causes me no shame. In fact, I’m very proud to share it. It’s very important for me to do so because if there’s an inkling of a chance that my sharing helps anyone else in any way, then it is well worth it.

Nineteen years ago, I began “family” therapy. Three years later, I was told by a medical professional that I needed, “long-term, intensive psychotherapy.” Upon asking for a recommendation, I landed with a licensed psychologist that I would spend the next 16 years seeing on a regular (at least weekly, sometimes as much as 4 times per week) basis. 

Today marked the end of that journey. With bittersweet emotions, I terminated my therapy relationship today with the person who knows more about me than anyone in my life ever has and ever will. He thanked me for letting him be part of my life. He told me he admired and respected me and he expressed how much he has enjoyed seeing me heal, grow, and transform over the years. He hugged me.

You see, when I was younger – throughout my adolescence and early adulthood - I had a vision of the person that I wanted to become – compassionate, caring, social, engaging, and successful among many other things. The problem was, I had messages in my head – tapes as we say- that told me things like, “that’s for other people, not you” and “you’ll never do that” and “you don’t have what it takes,” etc. The negative messages, on one hand, pressed me to try harder – to work, to strive, to put family first, to be present, and to give back. On the other hand, the same messages (among other things) caused me pain. To relieve the pain, I drank. And I drank more. I drank until I ended up with 3 DUI’s and became mentally and physically incapacitated.

Therapy helped me see what was happening. Slowly, I became willing and able to look at things – at myself - to understand the history around my behavior and to build awareness of it. Over time, the awareness bred change. I got sober. I learned that I was worthy of being cared for – not only by others, but by me. Then I learned to take care of myself – emotionally and physically. Seven years after I got sober, I quit smoking. Then I got in shape. I continue to take care of myself and enjoy doing so every day. It’s so good for the psyche.

As the layers of negativity and pain from the past fell away, I developed self-esteem and self-confidence that carried me through my career and the beginnings of a social life. You see, my doctor said I never really had a sense of self. Essentially, therapy was Michael getting to know Michael. As I did, I began to like this person. Of course, once I began to like Michael, I began to let others like Michael, too. I made friends; I strengthened the friendships I already had. I got closer to my family. My career took off.

I came to terms with my father. I found forgiveness. I learned that my past could be transformed into my future – that those traits that I learned then could be applied today in a different way and contribute to my success as a leader. I slowly began to become “complete.”

Today, I terminated therapy because of exactly that – completeness. I feel complete with my past. I feel complete with myself. I feel complete having an awesome set of tools that my therapist gave me over the years. Those tools have helped me with some of the most difficult times of my life – losing my uncle, watching my Gram deteriorate with Alzheimer’s, watching my dog slowly lose her vigor and love of life. I know today that I can manage these things. I don’t like them. I can manage them. And I will be ok. Perhaps the most significant thing I’ve learned is that I WILL be ok. Being complete doesn’t mean I’ve learned all there is to learn or that I won't continue to learn, grow and work on things. What it means is that I am at a point where I have the tools and wherewithal to continue my journey on my own.

Today I terminated therapy. I have BECOME that person that I always envisioned and wanted to be. I am happy with me. I am complete.