It’s no secret Mom and Dad had quite a remarkable love story. It was in no way perfect, but their dedication, commitment and love for each other was unmatched. Since Mom passed, the number one question I get asked is, “How is your Dad?” That is understandable, since their story was well known and since we posted pictures of them regularly to document Mom’s dementia journey. Every week, friends could keep up with how things were progressing by perusing photos online. Now that Mom is gone, our flow of online information has stopped, but our time with Dad has not.  

I still have lunch with him every Friday and Melinda still comes over on Sundays. We talk to him daily. Of course, emotionally it is difficult. When Mom went to memory care he said, “We’ve always been Martha and Mike, I don’t know how to be just Mike.” Fortunately, he has had the past four years living on his own to figure it out to some degree. Still, it is not the same as having his soulmate and life partner by his side. He visits her grave on most Mondays. And all of us are getting winks from Mom among the birds and flowers that show up unexpectedly in our days.

Overall, we are making our way through the grief. Dad has a couple of trips in the works. One to see his grandson in Orlando, and another to visit his cousin in SC. He bought a tripod type thing that fits on the window in his car so he can take photos without having to get out and hike. He’s learning what traveling looks like now for him. He is still able to drive safely on his own to places that are a day’s drive. Longer distances, like to Orlando, he will fly with a family member. He is dipping his toe in the waters of venturing out.

He has a wonderful support system he has built over the past few years. A men’s support group who have all surrounded one another as each has walked this road. There are other men who have been where he is, and some who will come after him. They all love one another and have compassion at whatever juncture they are walking through. It has been and continues to be his lifeline.

He has a group of friends from Atlanta, whom he has known for over 40 years, that he has dinner with every Friday night. He drives down and they meet at a different restaurant each week. They have known each other so long that he feels very comfortable with them. It lifts him up to be with them because they have years and years of relationship as a foundation.

He is involved at Lanier Village, where he lives. He takes pictures of all the new residents as they move in for the directory. He attends church services there. He is involved with others on his hall, and has meals with friends often.

Keeping busy helps us all to process the grief. We are there for each other on all the “firsts” without Mom. Just a couple of weeks after Mom’s service, the grandkids had a surprise birthday party for his 88^th birthday. We are coming up on the holidays, so we will all adjust make new traditions that honor Mom and also our new life without her physical presence.

I do feel we all are still experiencing the relief that Mom isn’t suffering any longer. That does not remove the grief, but it makes it more palatable. I think the most difficult thing is that now, grief underlies everything else. A hard day is made harder by grief. A good day isn’t as good. Yet, he is making his way, as we all are.

We are mainly trying to care for our tender hearts that are still trying to heal from the long, long journey. Our hearts still quiver to the touch when new injuries surface. We are highly sensitive to pain in whatever form it takes. It will take some time for the exhaustion and trauma of the past 7 years to heal. Yet, there are others who are still walking in the hardship that dementia creates. All of us are involved in some way by trying to encourage others who need some handholding and those activities seem to bring a healing of their own to our hearts. It reminds us we are not alone and that we have so many who love and care for us. For all of you, we are grateful. We thank God for you all!!