My father has dementia.
I know that. And I know that it is a progressive condition.
All of that knowledge did me no good when I saw him earlier this trip. And saw him struggling (and failing) with my name. And forgetting where we were or what he liked to eat. I still felt like the air had been knocked out of me.
Since that visit, I have been filling my sketchbook with thumbnails about Dad and my feelings about his dementia.
2 comments:
I send you warm hugs! Keep working it out through your sketches, I know it helps. In the big picture of things we are never forgotten by our loved ones.
My mother's also slipping. Memory is a muscle, and no matter how much we work it, it's still going to get weak. It's a fact of this mortal coil.
Look at your sketch as a glass half full. Or at least try to for as long as there's anything in it.
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