Grief again. I had a little set back this week. I very bad Wednesday morning. I'd been trying to move too quickly through this part of the grief process. So I've slowed down some. Spent some more time alone. Thought through more stuff.
I've been going through the scrapbooks. I did digital scrapbooking for about 5 years, part of that time while Joe was sick, but most of it before I knew just how sick he was going to get.
We had a grandson to enjoy. And he is a fun kid. For a while those electronic drums were his favorite thing.
We had some great Christmas celebrations. Some pretty wonderful memories.
2007 was the last Thanksgiving in New York City, the last Christmas that was a pretty normal one. The last time I put up the big tree. Lots of lasts, but we didn't know that yet. When you are living through dementia, you don't understand how bad it can get.
By the time this picture was taken I knew where my life was going, but there was still a lot of quality of life. Joe stopped driving in May 2008. It was no longer safe for him to have car keys, so life was changing pretty heavily by then. But there were smiles and companionship.
But there were still birthdays to celebrate. And fun to be had. And joy to experience. It really is important to remember that.
When things got bad I mostly stopped scrapping. Joe had always taken the photos, except for the ones of him, and I'd done the Photoshop layouts. There came a point when he didn't understand the camera anymore.
One more loss. One more sadness.
What needs to happen now is picking up the pieces of my life. I need to look at the missing years in the scrapbooks and fill them in. I can do the last couple of years at a later time, or not at all. Mostly those will be pages without photos. Either they never got taken or they have been misplaced. I've done plenty of pages with no photos in the past. I can do that again.
Some of what you say resonates with me with regard to my father. I think you met him. He was a physicist and probably near genius level. Now he hardly ever talks. He can still feed himself. It's a sad thing.
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