Tag Archives: PTSD

Come Rain or Come Shine or Come Insecurity

18 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by in death, dementia, humor, music, sip and paint studio, Uncategorized

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I’m sad, guys. I don’t know why I’m sad now. I just know that I’m grieving my dad HARD right now. I know grief comes in waves. I think partly that this is because I’m in a period of real transition now that I’ve closed the paint and sip studio and things have stalled with the next adventure. Insecurity in my life isn’t helping. I think it’s also because it’s the time of year that I tend to get a depression flare. It happens just about every year around this time: my depression kicks it up a notch and my brain starts telling me I’m a giant loser and a miserable person who makes terrible, cowardly choices, and the future is very, very bleak. Again, insecurity in my life isn’t helping.

I’ve been having nightmares about my dad again. I say “nightmares,” but they’re not really scary – just really, really sad. I’ve woken up crying several times. And my dreams always share one feature: he always has dementia. He’ll be in different stages, but he’s never just him. In a dream a couple days ago, I was dancing to “Come Rain or Come Shine” with him, and for a split second, he was dancing and interacting with me like he was normal and healthy, and I thought, “This is a dream, but it’s a fantastic dream. I’ve got to keep this going.” I very rarely am aware that I’m  dreaming, but I knew it this time and I was desperate for it to continue. And then, in an instant, he changed and I kept grabbing his arms and trying to force him and my dream to come back. I woke up so bloody angry that I couldn’t even remember him as my fully functioning father in a dream. Why can’t I think of him that way? Why is it always him in some stage of dementia?

Two nights ago, I had a flashback. I was feeling really tired and a little nauseated and lay down, and suddenly I was convinced that I was crumpled up, crying, in the hallway outside of the room where my dad was dying. I could hear the oxygen machine going and smell the nursing home stink. I could feel the carpet underneath me and the wallpaper at my back. PTSD, anyone? Ugh. I just want to forget those final three, pain-filled days.

So yeah, it’s been a hard couple weeks. And Wednesday is my 40th birthday. How can I celebrate it without including my dad? How can he not be here for it? He’s supposed to be here for it. I miss him so damn much all the damn time.

But there’s nothing I can do about it. And since I’m in a depressive cycle, I need to focus on the good things. I’ll share one with you.  This is the pit I discovered when I cut open an avocado for lunch today:

avocado pit

How cool is that? It looks like a tree. Or Audrey II (there was that total eclipse of the sun a little while back…). Or brains. There is an excellent possibility that I chased the cats around the house with it chanting, “braaaaaaaains.” I may have also tried to chase S around the house with it and he may have taken it from me and thrown it out when I wouldn’t stop. It may also have attracted fruit flies and I may also being currently trying to get them drunk/kill them on cheap white wine and dish soap. Hey, it’s not the worst way to go.

Life goes on, come rain or come shine.

Fatigues

28 Thursday May 2015

Posted by in art, dementia, Fractured Memories, mental health

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So, um, yeah. I kind of forgot to post a painting about my dad last Thursday, and forgot to post Monday’s with Muddy this week. Blame it on Sasquatch. He’s been up to no good and wreaking havoc in my life. Damn him. Trying to get back into the swing of things now.

This week’s painting from the Fractured Memories series and my dad’s identity before the dementia has to do with Vietnam. He served in Military Intelligence (a term he deemed to be an oxymoron) in Vietnam in the late 60’s, becoming a first lieutenant. When the dementia care facility was interviewing our family prior to him moving in, we told them that, which they took to mean that he was the first lieutenant in Vietnam, and put that in all of the bio stuff they post in newsletters and such. Snicker. Upon his return from Vietnam, he joined the protest movement, growing out his hair and beard, wearing his fatigues and combat boots, lying down in the street to block traffic, and generally becoming a dirty, dirty hippy. He even went to seminary. He was a man of conscience. His best friend was actually killed in Vietnam, which was something I think my dad never really got over.

Growing up, I tried asking questions about the time he served in the army, but he was fairly reticent. It wasn’t until the dementia started that he began talking to me about his experiences. He got shot at in helicopters on recon missions and suffered from PTSD when he returned to the States. He told me that a car would backfire outside his apartment in Chicago and he’d dive under the bed. But he also had funny stories about dating Vietnamese women, and about the pet monkey he had (he couldn’t remember the monkey’s name, but thought it might have been Monkey Mouse) that hated women and would hurl feces at the dates he brought home. The monkey eventually disappeared and was most likely cooked up and served by a nearby restaurant.

I still have one of his shirts from his time in Vietnam, and it’s a source of comfort for me. I’m proud that my dad had the courage to serve, and that he also had the courage when he came back to stand up and say that what was happening over there wasn’t right. I love that he didn’t lose his humanity, and did therapy in seminary that no doubt helped him deal with his PTSD and the loss of his best friend. I love that he remained loyal to that friend’s family, even when that had to be painful at times. I love that, later, as an alcohol and drug abuse counselor in CA, he no doubt helped other vets who hadn’t had the help he’d had early on. I love that he didn’t get brainwashed into thinking that the military was only ever right, nor that it was only ever wrong.

With all of that in mind, here is the next painting in the Fractured Memories series:

"Fatigues" 6"x6" oil on canvas

“Fatigues” 6″x6″ oil on canvas