A Vivid Dream

So Friday night I had one of those vivid dreams, the kind where you wake up confused and wondering how you got back to your bedroom, in your bed, because you could have sworn you were just .... somewhere else.
I actually woke up crying, and Artie was shaking me and saying "Kim, Kim?" I had dreamed that we were at an outdoor gospel concert somewhere in Halls. I recognized some landmarks of Halls, but there is no amphitheater in Halls like I saw in my dream. There were several groups singing, groups I remember from the Dunsmore days. Suddenly Dad was beside me, dressed in a suit like he was ready to sing. He took my hand (which he NEVER would have done in real life, so I should have known I was dreaming!) He started singing to me, and the background noise of the ongoing concert faded into the background. He was singing in his beautiful voice the words to "'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus..." " ... Just to take Him at His word, just to rest upon His promise, just to know thus sayeth the Lord." It was Dad's voice, clear as a bell. It was one of his suits that I remember. I don't know why he was holding my hand, but he was THERE! I mean it was like he was right beside me! He started to walk away, but I could still hear him singing very clearly. I started to cry and run after him in my dream, but he kept walking away. At one point he turned back to look at me, and he was still singing, but then he turned and kept walking away until he was out of sight. I think that's why I was crying when I woke up, because I was crying after him in the dream. I was so very sad when I woke up and realized it was a dream. It took me over an hour to go back to sleep and I still cried during that time. I'm crying now as I write this for you. It was just so real! I know others have had dreams like that. I felt like maybe he was trying to tell me something - like, DUH, Trust In Jesus! Right?!? As I finally drifted back off to sleep early Saturday morning, I felt/saw Mamaw standing at the foot of my bed. She was holding her purse, of all things, and was in a church dress. (She always carried her purse the same way, and she was holding it just that way). She didn't smile or cry or say anything to me. She held out her hand and I wanted to take it SO badly!!! I wanted her to take me to Dad, and to her, and to Jesus most of all. But then she turned her head toward Logan's room as if to remind me I had at least one very big reason to stay here. And when I thought of Logan, I didn't want to go with her anymore. It was such an emotional dream sequence and I've thought about it all weekend. I don't know why we have dreams or visions, or thoughts like these. I don't know why it's so hard to think of these loved ones. I know that Dad and Mamaw are both in heaven, along with many other loved ones who have passed on. They are so happy there, and I will see them soon enough. I just felt like sharing this with you. Maybe it's for someone else, too, besides me, who needs to be reminded to Trust In Jesus. Hopefully I'll have a few dreamless nights this week, or dream of sand dollars or sugar plums. I don't know if my heart can take another vivid dream like this one for a while.

A Moment of Panic

Dictionary.com defines dementia as: "severe impairment or loss of intellectual capacity and personality integration, due to the loss of or damage to neurons in the brain."
Today I had a moment of panic as I thought about the scientific research indicating that Kristi & I each have a 50% chance of contracting Pick's Disease since Dad had it. Add to that statistic that our maternal grandmother died after a long Alzheimer's battle, and we may both end up demented (literally!). I have wondered many times since Dad was diagnosed if it was harder to watch him mentally disappear right before our eyes than it would have been to see him suffer some other type of disease. At least with the Pick's Disease, he did not appear to be in any great pain until the last few days. It was so hard for us to not be able to carry on conversations with him, or to wonder if he even recognized us any more. I still don't know which would be worse.
When Dad's disease first started out, his personality began to change. He would blurt out inappropriate words. He acted more and more like a misbehaving child, performing crazy antics for attention. He remembered all the words to his beloved gospel songs, but he didn't know how to be serious on stage anymore. He would wear the same clothes for days, even if they were dirty - when before he was METICULOUS about his clothing. This stage of the disease became worse & embarrassingly worse before his physical problems started or his memory left him.
The thought of someday being bedridden, curled up into a fetal position, and not knowing my own son, is absolutely terrifying to me. The thought of Artie having to care for me like a baby is also depressing and frightening. I watched my mom care for my dad and I know what a toll it took on her. The burden of being a caregiver is a great one, and so often under-appreciated.
Dad starting exhibiting the first signs of his disease around age 60 or 61. That means I may only have 15 good years left! Scary stuff. However, if I put it into perspective of how none of us are even promised the next hour, much less tomorrow, then it seems a little more bearable. I guess I just need to make the most of every day, every year, and when my time comes, be it through dementia or some other means, I will have lived the best life I could. Matthew 6:34: "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." (KJV)

I Love My Mommy!

Disclaimer: This photo was taken before my weight loss surgery! :)

I love my mom. I have always loved my mom, of course, because she's well ... my MOM. But I haven't always been close to her. We never bonded the way I thought mothers & daughters should bond while I was living at home. Then I got married and moved 500 miles away and focused on my husband. Through the years, Mom & I maintained a good relationship, and we never had any major arguments or went months without speaking to each other. It was never a horrible relationship, it just wasn't a great one.
We grew a little closer after I had Logan, although I was disappointed that Mom & Dad didn't have more time for their only grandchild (at the time). Their singing schedule kept them busy, busy, busy. They did schedule him in on Thursday nights and would keep him from 6:00 to 9:00 on Thursdays every week. I just didn't feel that was enough, and I held that against them for a long time.
When Dad was sick, most of the burden of his care fell on Mom. Kristi & I helped as much as we could, but we both work full-time jobs and have our own small families to take care of. I saw a different side of Mom as she cared for Dad day in and day out, refusing to put him in a nursing home. She insisted he would stay at home unless it became medically necessary to move him. She spoon fed him, changed his diapers, clipped his nails, shaved him, brushed his teeth - it was like having another baby. She would get tired, of course, and frustrated at times, but she took care of him for 6 years, the last two when he was completely bedridden and helpless. She washed urine off of walls and out of carpet. She saw her husband of 44 years disappear before her eyes. And still she kept going. I don't know how she made it those last couple of years. She worked full-time and cared for Dad during the nights and weekends.
After Dad died, I spent months working through that in therapy. Missing him, wishing I could have had more conversations with him before his mind was gone, wondering how I would survive this world with just one parent. (I know, lots of people survive their parents' death, but it was new to me, okay?) I had always felt closer to my Dad than my Mom, and I just didn't know how I could move forward in my relationship with Mom.
It certainly tested me when Mom started dating again several months after Dad died. I couldn't believe it! Dating?!? How could she? I held my nose up in disdain! It didn't matter that he was very kind, a good Christian man, and treated Mom very well. It probably took me a good year to accept the fact that she needed a companion and that it did not diminish the love she had with my Dad.
After quite a bit of therapy, much prayer, and some very honest and difficult conversations with Mom, things have really changed over the last two years. I talk to her every day, and she is the first person I want when I am sick. She was at my bedside after both of my recent surgeries, and slept on the couch next to me to give Artie a break. She has become a great cheerleader for me, and I have become the close daughter I think she always wanted me to be. She was only 17 when she had me, and 21 when she had Kristi. It took a long time, but we finally have that close relationship that I always thought a mother & daughter should have. It's never too late to mend or work on a relationship. God can change hearts and work through things that on our own we could never resolve. I love my Mommy and I'm very thankful for the closeness we now share.