Because the famous and the ordinary have already weighed in on this.
Chemical depression is a very real thing. I have so many family members who have dealt with it. On both sides of the gene pool. it’s a disease the same as any other. It does not denote cowardice or weakness or will in those who suffer from it.
I’ve been suicidal twice in my life . I’m really only still here because the first time I was inept. ( couldn’t manage to jump off a roof correctly.) the second time I realized I needed help almost as quickly as those thoughts came. Doesn’t make me a coward or weak willed. What I wish for anyone who has had those thoughts is that they weren’t by themselves at the time that they had them because it seems to me that the odds of surviving suicidal ideation go up if you’re not by yourself when those thoughts come on. And that’s my only wish about Robin Williams situation is that he hadn’t been by himself when those thoughts came on.
So Mr. Limbaugh, depression is not a political attitude, contrary to what you said
And Fox News, Robin Williams was not a coward.
Thank you home health aides for making it possible for me to hang out at my house. Thank you home health aides for making it possible for me to visit with people at church or visit with people in the community. Thank you home health aides for helping me keep my home safe. Thank you home health aides for making sure my activities of daily living get done. Thank you home health aides for being as persistent as I have been in trying to fix the Caresource problem, while still providing uncompensated care. And thank you home health aides even for helping me get ready for a day in which I made dumbass mistakes. ( check the Weather Channel before you go out. Thank God for umbrellas.)
I’m thinking of my other great grandmother…the one who was tiny and (I recently found out) Irish, instead of a tall Swede…
When I was very very little she lived in a tiny apartment on East 96th…her daughter, my great aunt Virginia still lived nearby, on 84th, or 93rd and came and visited with, and took care of her every day… On birthday’s or Christmas, many of us would sit against the walls of that apartment in a circle, and she, embarrassed by all that attention, but happy, would sit in the center, and open presents, or laugh or smile at something someone else said.
She was a simple, quiet woman who missed her cottage and garden in Kirtland Ohio…but her osteoperosis was raging, and she could barely see from cataracts. When she had breast cancer (in the 20’s or 30’s?) a radical double mastectomy had been the only solution. She was amazing without the bravado of her grandsons….curls piled on top of her head, indiscriminate and interesting, not a carefully crafted “perm” as her daughter wore.
When they moved to an apartment in Mayfield Heights, an Eastside suburb, in the early 70’s, her room had a distinctive character…her scarves, perfumes, buttons, hankerchiefs, carefully laid on the bureau…and pictures, pictures, pictures, my favorite being one of her mother, a girl who had some French in her, named Jeanette. Not to mention the occasional mint.
She was the kind of great grandma a talky little kid needed. She was clear headed and paid attention to my little successes and failures in such a way that I felt she really wanted to know. She also wanted to connect by touch and was a great hand holder, even when all other movement was labored.
She was lucky enough to have a peer on that side of my family, my other great grandmother, tall, elegant. I loved that aspect of familly gatherings after the move to a bigger apartment. She and my other great grandmother would sit on the couch and reminisce quietly out of hearing of the younger folk. I’d eavesdrop sometimes, to hear about things that sounded fascinating that happened fifty years ago that I knew nothing about. All I truly remember was a scrap of a conversation about the end of WW!…how the cease fire happened on her birthday and she felt odd about that…….
Her daughter became gravely ill in 1974, and near the end of that, my great grandmother came to live with us for a bit. I was asked to help her with some basic care, and tried to present a cheerful face to her when I did.
But inside, I was terrified I would do a wrong and get in trouble…so I was reluctant….I got better at it, and therefore more frequent and more willing… I learned she had what they called then a “weak heart.” For that reason, when her daughter did pass away, it was decided not to tell her, at least not until after the funeral…
At the breakfast table one morning, she raised her voice.
“Children, I’m no fool. You don’t have to say a thing, I know she’s gone.”
There was a little denial, mainly because we were stunned she knew because we had remained silent…we called around and made sure no one else had told her, and then…we comforted her…one of my parents and I stayed with her during the funeral I was not permitted to attend. There was never an explanation about how she knew.
A week later, in the type of goodbye that was passing even then, peers, grandchildren and great grandchildren were around her bedside in that same kind of circle as she passed away. She was 97.
I loved knowing someone who could be so sweet and bracing, even while sitting still.
I’m sad about someone I respect. She was the primary caregiver for a son with disabilities for the entirety of his life up to now. And he was and remains, shall we say, difficult. She gave up her own dreams? Life path, whatever you might call it, so that he would be cared for.
Now, she has dementia, and he has care in the home, but it is inadequate.
He has decided, on his own to go into a facility and that’s hard enough. But it will be worse for her because she, for her own safety, should also go in. And she will be so afraid, and confused, and angry.
See it as kidnapping in a sense.
And as difficult as this son is…I place a lot of blame on his alcohol infused able bodied brother. He certainly saw this moment coming decades ago, but neither he nor his brother with disabilities have done any advance planning. (the brother with disabilities has a weird world view, but no cognitive deficits per se. He could have helped in the thinking ahead)…
And after all that, I still feel sad for them both that they have to endure this. Her, more than anything, as she is taken from her home, for reasons she does not understand.
I shouldn’t feel sorry for his trouble…given our history, given his difficult nature.
Trying to find housing for a former caregiver back in Denver that I respect. I’ve linked the website here before in case folks need it. (It has Ohio listings as well) http://www.socialserve.com Pulled 73 zero step entrance dwelling listings…advised that as with most of these types of places there are waiting lists…Hope it’s’ helpful to them down the road.
Challenging visit to the doc yesterday. More on that when/if I feel like it.