At some point in most dementia care partners’ experience they will find themselves on this battleground: wishing for their loved one the peace that comes with death, while feeling immense grief at the prospect of losing them. The resulting mix of emotions — compassion, guilt, longing, regret, sorrow and more — is exceedingly difficult to cope with.
This poem is about the heart-wrenching conversations one has with self and the powers that be at those times. It’s the second version of a poem i called “a daughter’s prayer to god,” which I first wrote in 2014, after Mom came “this close” to dying.
November 16, 2018: I doubt I will ever get over the deep grief I feel each November 16, the day my mother was relocated to #DementiaJail in 2012. All I can do is try to process it in whatever way I can. This year, once again, it’s with poetry.
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In March 2017, I wrote an open letter to Québec’s Minister of Health regarding the rationing of incontinence products in the province’s long-term care facilities. The letter includes a two-minute video, which demonstrates the amount of fluid required to fill an incontinence brief to overflowing, as I found my mother’s to be on numerous occasions. So far, a year later, I’ve not received a reply.
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I didn’t want to leave my comfortable life in Dubai to come back to Canada to care for my mom. It was a role I wasn’t trained for, hadn’t expected and was comletely ill-equipped to perform. But, like many care partners, I felt I had no choice. In the end, it became one of the most rewarding things I could have done at that point in my life. The hardest thing, and the best thing. A paradox.
dementia caregivers
This poem is dedicated to dementia care partners everywhere.
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November 16, 2017: In a strange moment of foreshadowing, I took this picture of Mom and I staring into the mirror in the hallway of her big red brick house on the hill on November 14, 2012 . It wasn’t at all planned to feel like this, but whenever I see this picture I’m shocked at how it looks like we’re in a prison of sorts. Two days later, we kidnapped Mom and took her to #DementiaJail, where we both ended up behind invisible bars in a very real prison of sorts.
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My mother was a woman of great strength and determination. A fighter. This poem reflects what I know she most certainly felt the last four years of her life because she told me so every day in multiple different ways up until a very short time before she died. I continue to honour her final chapter by advocating for change.
I encourage you to listen to the poem by clicking on the arrow at the left hand side of the audio player.
Dedicated to the hundreds of thousands of elderly people around the world, particularly those living with Alzheimer and other dementias, who are physically and chemically restrained in one way or another.
i want to live
why do you wish to jail me so?
i cry, i beg: “please let me go!”
i want adventures far and near
i want to roam, I have no fear
strength abides deep within
at my core, through thick and thin
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On Friday, April 13, 2017, I found stories of abuse everywhere I turned.
In the morning, for example, an inbox update took me to a New York Times story headlined: “Sexual Abuse at Choate Went on for Decades, School Acknowledges,” in which it was reported that “at least 12 former teachers had sexually molested — and, in at least one case, raped — students in a pattern of abuse dating to the 1960s.”
The article expanded: “It is the latest in a string of prestigious private academies that have faced accusations of sexual abuse by faculty members, including St. George’s School, in Rhode Island, and Horace Mann and Poly Prep in New York City.”
In the evening, CBC As It Happens host Carol Off interviewed United Nations Code Blue Campaign co-director Paula Donovan on the abuse of children by UN peacekeepers in Africa and Haiti. Donovan said “there were two hundred and fifty allegations of sexual exploitation and abuse by the peacekeepers just in the Central African Republic.” That was during 2015 and 2106 alone. The peacekeepers in question, she said, leveraged their power to abuse their victims.
These things happened, and still happen, because victims are not believed, witnesses remain silent or are forced into silence, whistleblowers are vilified and punished for speaking out, abuse is swept under the rug, and organizations, institutions, and professional bodies protect themselves and their own.
I believe the same kind of thing happens with respect to the infirm and elderly, particularly those with dementia, in long term care. Their neglect and abuse remains largely unseen and unreported in facilities such as nursing homes around the world. I also believe that when lies are told, the truth unfolds.
Also on Friday, April 13, I became aware of the story of Carolyn Strom, a Saskatchewan nurse who, in 2015, had voiced her opinion regarding what she considered substandard long-term and palliative care received by her grandparents. As a result, she was convicted of “professional misconduct” and fined $26,000 by the regulatory body of professional nursing in Saskatchewan. I immediately donated to the GoFundMe campaign to pay the fine so she can continue to practice nursing.
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My Alzheimer's Story 