What Difference Does It Make?

I'm a neat freak. I've been this way as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager my bedroom was always tidy. I made my bed before school, my clean clothes were folded and put away in my dresser, my shirts and trousers were on hangers in my closet. Dirty clothes were put away in the hamper, never tossed on the floor. It was something Mona had to get used to when we got married but we worked it out. She's a fantastic cook and so our arrangement was simple. She did the cooking and I did the dishes. Even if we'd been out late, when we got home I'd start cleaning the kitchen. She'd tell me to turn off the water and leave the dishes in the sink, noting that they'd still be there in the morning. I'd counter by telling her I'd be along soon, although I admit she did have effective ways of encouraging me to come to bed with her. For this illustration that's beside the point.

Today, if you come by my place you'll see what I mean. It has two levels. The living room, dining room, kitchen and a half bath are upstairs; the bedrooms and a full bath are downstairs. It's all dusted and vacuumed, the beds are made, the closets are in order, the dishes are done, the stove is cleaned and the counters are cleared. The pictures are arranged in orderly fashion on the walls and my books are displayed on the bookshelves using my own special system.

The downstairs bathroom is disgusting.

I'm sure I haven't cleaned it in at least eight months. Last week I was in the shower and noticed black mold on the tiles where the shower curtain had stuck to it. There's some kind of green fungus growing on the inside of the shower curtain liner. Two days ago when I stepped on the bathroom scale I had to dismount and get a tissue to wipe the crud from the digital display before I could read my weight. There are dust bunnies and spider webs all around the floorboards, the bath mats have turned brownish grey in color and the trash basket is overflowing. My toothbrush holder is covered with unidentified white stuff and there's a grayish growth on the edge of the tub, outlining the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Don't ask about the toilet.

I was thinking about that tonight while I was with some friends. We were talking about how God wants to be involved in every aspect of our lives - and how he wants us to be successful and accomplished in every aspect of our lives. I realized that for months and months (and months and months) whenever I'd thought about my downstairs bathroom I'd been saying to myself, "What difference does it make? I'm the only one who sees it." The longer I felt that way, the dirtier that bathroom became, the harder it was for me to get around to cleaning it.

That can be what it's like for the caregiver of a loved one with dementia. There are so many things that only we can see -- fear, anger, fatigue, depression, hopelessness, overwhelming sadness. It's easy to think we'll always have these emotions, that there's nothing we can do about them. We're the only ones who can see them so what difference does it make?

I've cared for my wife for ten years and during that time I've learned there are many things I can't control. But there are things I can control. I can control my health, what I eat, how much I exercise. I can choose who I socialize with. And I can choose gratitude.

I always thought Mona and I would be that cute little couple holding hands in the park, married seventy years. It doesn't look like we're going to make that but we've been married 42 years and we've been together 45 years and I'll always be grateful for that time. I have wonderful family and friends, a terrific church, and I attend fabulous support groups offered by Wyoming Dementia Care that connect me with others who speak the caregiver language.

Look around and see those things you can control, even if you're the only one who sees them. Choose to take care of yourself. Choose to surround yourself with supportive family and friends. Choose to spend time with those who speak the caregiver language. And above all, choose to be grateful.

That's what difference it makes.

(It took about an hour for me to clean that downstairs bathroom. I hadn't realized until I cleaned away the grime, that the metal plate behind the shower faucet actually read "hot" and "cold". The shower curtain liner was beyond hope; I tossed it in the trash and bought a new one.)