The Light at the End of the Tunnel
It has now been 16 months since my wonderful Hubby passed away. I will always remember the Hebrew date of his passing because it was erev Sukkot, the night on which the Jewish holiday of Sukkot begins. On the English calendar it was October 9, In Judaism we commemorate the death of a loved one on the Hebrew anniversary, which will be forever engraved in my memory. Now that we in Israel have had the worst atrocities perpetrated on the Jewish people since the Holocaust – on October 7, 2023 – I will most certainly be reminded of both painful experiences, at the very same time, in the years to come.
For me, the past 16 months have been a “rebirth.” My brain, which was totally focused on Hubby’s needs, has had a time to relax. It began with excessive bouts of sleep. After caring for another for so many years, every cell of my body was exhausted. With time, I felt a re-awakening of my former self.
Suddenly, my shoulders relaxed. The wrinkles in my brow receded. People told me that I looked younger. I began to care about my appearance once again. New people entered my life and I enjoyed getting to know them. New emotions appeared, which I had long forgotten even existed. There were times that the tears flowed uncontrollably – after which I felt cleansed. It became possible to remember Hubby as he was before his three bouts of cancer and ten years of declining cognition. I smile when I think of him now. I look at the pictures of our past with no regrets, knowing just how fortunate I was to have met this man who adored me and who opened up my world to heights and new experiences, I had never imagined.
When caring for Hubby, I could barely think of anything else. Writing these chapters of the Dementia Diary gave the experience meaning beyond the obvious. I wanted – no needed – to share what I had learned with others.
It was not cathartic as many have suggested. It was a need for a purpose beyond providing my husband with a quality of life – indeed, with “life” itself. I had always had a purpose: student, wife, mother, business woman, political activist. Most of that raison d’être disappeared when Hubby became ill. Everything needed to be about him. He earned my devotion during the first thirty-five years of our marriage, but even so, my life was no longer as it had been before.
My writing of the Dementia Diary must now come to an end. This cannot happen without my sharing what awaits each of us, if we are willing to “grab the gold ring” of life which is offered to us. It is our well-earned right to now be ourselves once again. To enjoy whatever makes us feel alive. To appreciate that which we once adored. To make new friends. To love new people. To find new purpose. It is something which will happen gradually, when we give ourselves permission to live our own lives to the full, once again. At the end of this difficult experience of caregiving, I have found a new way of looking at my own life. There is no question that one gives up their own needs almost completely when caring for another 24/7, for years on end.
Upon reading my own choice of words – “to grab the gold ring of life…” – I immediately remembered the words of the poet Khalil Gibran which I engraved in the pocket watch which was Hubby’s wedding gift, and embossed on our wedding invitation. He wrote “Marriage is the golden ring in a chain whose beginning is a glance and whose ending is eternity.” I loved those words then, and love them still. It was my dream to see our marriage flourish and endure. I am rewarded in the memory of that accomplishment.
With the passing of each recent month, I begin to feel reborn. I now appreciate absolutely everything. It is raining outside and I am listening to the rain drops hitting my windows. It is nature’s music – because I am able to focus on it and appreciate the moment. I am still writing, but have returned to focusing and publishing articles about the ethical concepts which concern me, the future survival of my beloved country Israel, and my fears for the future of the nation which was so good to me for the first fifty years of my life, the United States.
Living alone, after being with Hubby and his aide for so many years, the house is quiet. There are no other voices. I can think. When I can think, I can write. That fulfills me and gives me purpose. My greatest fear is that I might pass from this earth before I have completed my mission. I am only just now realizing what that actually might be.
For each of us, that mission is unique. It matters not what I see in my future, as it will be different from your own vision. What matters is only that I realize now that my life did not end when Hubby passed. It was simply that the pause button had been pressed for a very long time, and has now been released. Life has begun anew.
When I think of a dear friend who spoke of having “died” and seen a bright light, before returning to life once again, I can connect. There is a light at the end of the tunnel for us all. We simply must have the courage to walk towards it – to bathe in its possibilities.
