When Honey Takes You Back

Maybe it was the post of a friend of mine about the loss of her mom. Maybe it was the honey on my toast this morning. Maybe it’s because I know I should continue writing his story but I froze… Whatever it is I can’t help thinking of my dad today.

My dad passed away in a beautiful age of almost 95 a couple of years ago. He suffered from dementia and in a way it robbed him of the last good years of his life. He had a fantastic life. I life definitely worth sharing. Dementia changed him though.

Some might say it was the age. I tell you it wasn’t. And I’m for sure not the right person to even make such a statement. I have not seen my dad in the years dementia struck really. Only at the beginning of it and at the very end. Given as we live in Australia and he was back in Switzerland. It changed him. And yet, it didn’t manage to entirely get to him.

I saw him for just about 2 weeks before he past away. While I was there he suffered from a really bad cold that turned into a chest infection and that took the last strength out of him. To be honest I thought he would pass away on the very first day I saw him again. He looked so bad. It was a brutal moment. Finally have made it over there again, being exhausted from the trip, dealing with all the feelings of being back and then seeing him so unwell. But he somehow “recovered”. I was told he really never made it back to the “strength” he had left before but he at least got to the point where we could interact. And I could tell that he recognized me and my family.

Dementia is brutal. It’s eating away on a person and from the outside you see them disappear. I often wonder how frustrating it must be for someone suffering from it and realizing in the early stages that bits and pieces are simply not connecting anymore. That parts of your memory are suddenly turning into clouds to then only disintegrate into nothing. And yet, when I saw him, I had the intense feeling that there was so much more there. Somewhere in there. Under a big pile of dust or in a big, thick cloud. Not easy for him to access anymore but still sort of trying to get to the surface. And sometimes it felt almost like that moment the sun is peaking through storm clouds for a brief moment. Those memories, the him he used to be, it all came through. Just for a short moment.

So when I sat down for breakfast this morning I felt like a piece of toast and honey. When we were kids my dad used to love to mix honey and butter. He called it “ant cream”… Don’t ask me why… And that mixture had this amazing creamy and sweet taste. When I’m focused I usually take my toast and spread the butter on it and then the honey. This morning though I was in thoughts. And in between putting the kettle on, drinking a glass of water and getting other things ready I mixed butter and honey just like we used to do it with dad… And somehow it tasted so much better then my usual toast with honey on it.

 

Posts I wrote about my dad:

About an ant hill
About not being an empty shell
About his passing
About him
About mountains
About luxury
About my favorite childhood memories
About the wind and stories it carries along

Sunset

 

With No Words

Today I felt it again…

A Momma's View

Sometimes it doesn’t need any words. Sometimes what’s been felt and thought can’t be put in words but expressed in an entirely different way. Sometimes it’s the connection that says it all.

Today I felt this connection.

I don’t want to go into details as of why there were no words. I just want to stress that we not always have to listen with our ears but rather with our heart to get the message.

Some might call it telepathy, some a deeper connection. Whatever it is, it’s there. We just need to open ourselves up to find the connection.

So often do we try to find the right words, the right sentences to explain what’s going on inside of us. In doing so we might “kill off” the real message.

If something, or someone, is really important to you, take your time. Connect. Open your heart. Receive. No words…

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On My Way Back

I know I post a lot of blasts from the past recently. Don’t worry, it will stop soon. I just need some time to get back into my normal schedule. The last two months have been so totally out of what I call normal and now it’s finally back to a certain schedule. I’m looking forward to it.

After having moved house and worked all of January, I traveled back to Switzerland to visit both my parents. I knew that my Dad would not be the same. I knew what kind of changes dementia can trigger. But I was not prepared to what would happen while being there.

My Dad passed away.

And I think he kind of decided to.

It was the right time.

I know specialists would not agree on it, but I seriously think that he got it. He knew I was there and he knew everything was okay. And he was able to go.

As much as I’m at peace with everything, I still need time to digest. 

Things just kind of happened over the last couple of weeks and I feel Nothing really sunk in just yet. I was simply too busy. It will hit me, I know. 

I thought I would never write a post like this. But please bare with me. I will be back, I’m on my way back. 

Not An Empty Shell

He seems very distant and yet I think he’s here. His eyes stare into the nothing, as if he’s trying to see something far away. He’s only a shade of the person he once was and still he has that special presence. 

I wonder what he still takes in. He sees, he hears, but what sticks? What triggers memories, what pictures does he see, flashing in his mind? Some old memories must come up. Every now and then there is a word, giving us a hint about him remembering things.

I don’t like it when people talk in front of him as if he’s not there. He is there, at least physically. I want to tell them to be quiet, not to talk like this in front of him. But I don’t. They’ve been with him for months, for years now, watching him slowly fade away. As close as I am and used to be, I’m only visiting. 

He’s not just an empty body, an empty shell. He is still that special person and will always be. Even if he doesn’t remember. We do.

And when we hold hands and a tiny smile appears on his face I get that glimps of the spark in his eyes that once filled rooms. And I know that he is still there, somewhere inside…