The Semicolon

Up until two years ago, I'd made it through adulthood without feeling the need to adorn myself with tattoos or piercings anywhere other than my earlobes.  Not that I hadn't toyed with the idea of a tattoo, but "someone" would have nattered on about it far too much and listening to the snide comments would have dulled any of the fun of getting one.  About six months after I was on my own, I decided that I would take the plunge (and a few Tylenol for the pain) and go get some ink done.  Little did I realize how addictive this whole tattoo thing would become.  I now have four tattoos, each with their own special meaning.  The first one is "Breathe, Believe, Begin" to remind me that nothing is insurmountable if I take the time to take a deep breath, believe in myself and get started.  The second is an infinity heart to remember my father who passed away.  The third is my daughter's name surrounded by delicate flowers, so like her.  The newest is a forget-me-not flower, the symbol for Alzheimer's.  This one honors my mother.  There will soon be a fifth.

The next one will be the semicolon symbol, a very small and discreet little marking that will be placed on my inner wrist.  A great many people are sporting this tattoo, but I wonder how much of the general population know what the meaning of it is.  I'm sure that those who know me will likely think that it's my way of flaunting the fact that I'm a bit of a grammar nerd, but they would be very far off the mark in this thinking.  I expect to have to explain to quite a few why I have a semicolon tattoo, and I fully expect to find that a difficult thing to do.  However, as difficult and awkward as it will be, I'll explain it as many times as needed.

This symbol represents mental health struggles and suicide prevention.  In 2013 there was a vast social media campaign called "Project Semicolon", described as a "movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those struggling with depression, suicide and self-injury".  The aim of the project was to create encouragement, love and inspiration.  This project resonates with me for several reasons.

As the parent of a teenager who has struggled for far too many of her young years with severe anxiety, depression and borderline personality disorder, any project or cause that will increase the awareness of these mental health issues has my full support.  For too long I have watched my daughter gather up the courage to face each day, never knowing if she will get through the entire day without something triggering a panic attack, setting off an uncontrollable rage episode, another round of depression or the need to cut herself in order to numb the emotional pain.  To say that being on the outside of it looking in is heart-wrenching is a definite understatement. 

I often feel there is nothing I can do to help this beautiful, intelligent and gifted young woman.  It's  emotionally, mentally and physically draining on levels that I can't even describe.  As a parent, giving her all of my support should be something that comes easily, but it doesn't.  We often end up tangled in a web of arguments, mistrust and hurt feelings because I can't always be the "rock" that I should be to her and I've not yet figured out how to not take things personally in the heat of the moment.  The personality disorder episodes are unchartered waters, and each time it happens it's hard to know what course to take, and I somehow usually get it wrong and make things worse.  Fortunately, she always finds her way back with some kind of inner determination that I only wish I had myself.

My hope with getting this little tattoo is that when I lose my patience and my own emotional strength in the midst of this journey with her struggle, I can look at it and remember what it's there for.  I hope that it reminds me of the parallel to a writer who chose to use a semicolon instead of an ending, and that she has chosen to fight this battle instead of giving up.  I hope that when she catches a glimpse of it every now and then, she realizes that it's there because I love her.  It's there because I want to encourage her and support her, even if she often doesn't think so.

I also hope she realizes it's there because I've had my own struggles and understand far more than I have ever told her, or ever will. I understand the fear, and I've had the chest crushing pain of anxiety attacks.  I am familiar with the sudden feeling of hopelessness and sadness that sneaks up and envelopes your entire being.  I get that sometimes these things prevent a person from getting out of bed because sleeping is easier.  I also can relate to the struggle to make a choice between a semicolon and a period.  The difficult thing is trying to convey that to her without it seenimg like I'm making it my story instead of hers.  Unchartered waters, indeed.

So with this next tattoo, I won't be taking the pain-killing Tylenol.  It just seems fitting that I feel the pain with this one.

;

Changes

I've realized recently that I don't like change.  That would be well and fine if change didn't seem to be the constant in my life.  It's the one thing that I can count on, almost daily.  I suppose that resistance is futile at this point, and truth be told I haven't got much left to resist with anyway.

I've had more changes in the past few years than most people do in a lifetime.  To be honest, not all of them were bad, and some were absolutely necessary.  A couple of them brought me a great deal of good (even if it took me a while to realize that).  However, it's the changes where I lose people that are the most difficult to deal with.  I'm so tired of losing people that mean so much to me, whether it's from distance, death, the parting of ways, or shift in life circumstances.  It sucks any way you cut it.

Currently, I'm finding myself in the position of losing another relationship that I desperately want to hang onto. I doubt that anyone who has had loving parents ever wants to see the inevitable change that comes with age.  I certainly don't, but another round with Alzheimer's, the most challenging opponent ever, keeps the changes coming. I'm seeing them in my mother, and I'd rather not.  Burying my head in the sand isn't going to stop these changes, nor will any of the other attempts at evasive action that I keep grasping at.

Each time I visit her, it seems to take her a little longer to realize that it's me.  It breaks my heart, and I always end up beating myself up over the fact that I don't visit her as often as I should due to the other responsibilities in my life and the fact that I can't be in ten places at once.  My logical side tells me that she has no idea how long it had been since I last saw her, but my emotional side takes me to task - every single time.

The fact that she is unhappy where she is doesn't help matters.  I was so grateful when we found a facility where she could get the proper care, and at first she was very content there.  It made things a lot easier to deal with, for all of us.  The contentment ended with the arrival of a new "roommate" who was very unpleasant to my Mom and constantly tried to physically prevent her from entering her own side of the room by blocking the doorway.  Had this been a couple of years ago when my Mom's feisty temperment was still in play, I'm pretty sure there would have been some humour-filled yet firm retaliation.  Instead, it  happened at a time in her life where my mother was timid, fearful and unable to stand up for herself.  This has created a set back in her well-being and happiness, which in turn, manifests more confusion in her mind.  For months my sister and I had been trying to get the facility to sort this out while we waited for an opening at another care facility more suited to her needs. As is typical when dealing with any kind of health program, progress seemed at a standstill.  Sometimes it feels like most of my life is spent waiting for the provincial health system to come up with a "care plan" for those that I love so dearly, and I can do nothing but wait and hope the plans don't come too late.

When we finally got a call that there was an opening in another facility, we realized that it would now be too detrimental to make any change to Mom's living arrangements.  My biggest fear in all of this (aside from the physical safety of my mother), is that it would speed up the progression of her disease. After consulting with the her physician it was confirmed that would likely be the outcome.  Having gone through this once already with my father, I'm all too well aware of how any sudden changes or emotional upset can affect the mental state.  Hell, even without having Alzheimer's, unwanted and unpleasant changes can have these affects.  I know, because I struggle with unpleasant changes so frequently that I often have a hard time keeping myself together enough to make it through an entire week without losing my sanity.  I can't imagine what it's like when half of your mind is already ravaged and confusion runs rampant through your day. 

It's heart wrenching to see my mother afraid, confused and in tears most of the time.  For the last few years my mom was very easy going and content.  Unless she was having an episode of dementia related hallucinations, you could always depend on a smile and a laugh from her.  Now, those smiles take a bit of coaxing and the laughter is a bit quieter.  I could also depend on her to know what was happening in my life.  She now forgets more frequently that I have a job, that my daughter is almost grown, that I have my own house.  I hate those changes with all of my being.

So far the only thing that hasn't changed with her lately is her knowledge that my daughter is her granddaughter.  When she sees her, she lights up and says "there's Emily".  It brings me to tears every time, because Mom was so overjoyed to be a grandmother. 

Recently I visited on a rare day when she recognized me and said "there's my baby" with her arms outstretched.  I ended up having to turn my head away so she didn't see my eyes well up.  It isn't because the words made me sad, but because I knew that the number of times I would get to hear those words are limited. 

I often think of the quote that says "without change there is no growth".   I used to like that quote because it seemed to say to me that good would always come from difficult changes if I waited long enough.  However, now it seems to me that the trend with changes to my world always mean a loss of some sort.
And every loss seems to take another little chunk out of my heart.

So if change really means growth, I don't want to grow anymore.