‘You’re handling this pretty well,’ he said. I think he’s right

I was the only one who showed up last week for the new support group they’re offering at Artis where Evelyn lives.

No problem. As I told the kind and competent facilitator, a worker with Queen City Hospice, I like to talk. There was little need for me to work on my listening when it was just him and me and the host from Artis. Of course, I did listen some. But his questions prompted me to repeat the highlights of our whole story.

“Do you have much support?” he asked me at one point, and I told him about all the encouragement and connections that have helped me in so many ways.

“What about grief?” he asked, and I thought about all the hand-wringing I’ve done in this space. Oh yes, I’ve certainly thought about grief.

We talked about the unique grief of Alzheimer’s caregivers and family members, and I teared up when I admitted my feelings. (I was surprised again at how close to the surface my grief is residing.)

After an hour, he said to me, “Well, it seems to me you’re handling all this pretty well.” I can’t disagree. Handling, not forgetting. Not ignoring. Not buried. I’m handling it.

Delightful weekend

I handled it all well during the delightful Easter weekend I spent with my daughter and her family.

We posed on our way to church Sunday morning. It was her birthday!

Highlights: A meaningful Good Friday service soon after I got to Knoxville. A trip to a wholesale nursery Saturday and purchases for my yard. Hours for reading and resting on her deck, surrounded by tall trees swaying with the breeze in the warm afternoon.

Saturday night we celebrated her birthday (her big day was Easter Sunday this year) at a Japanese restaurant—not my usual, but I loved the chicken katzu bowl and salmon skewers. Sunday morning’s worship was thought-provoking and hope-stirring. The afternoon with her family featured games, gifts, and a wonderful dinner my daughter had worked Saturday and Sunday to prepare.

Challenging morning

We seldom spoke of Evelyn, but I couldn’t forget my Easter with her just one year ago. It was the last Sunday in March, just two days before Evelyn moved to Artis.

Our church’s auditorium was full, and Evelyn couldn’t see well past the people in front of us. Her energy was waning after about 30 minutes. We spilled the Communion juice, and then she started wanting to lie down on the empty seat beside her.

Leaving early. Easter Sunday 2024

Finally, a few minutes into the sermon, I asked her, “Would you like to go home?” and she said yes. On our way out of the building, I grabbed a friend to take our picture in the decorated lobby. It was the last time I tried taking Evelyn to church.

Good memories

Pictures from past Easters have been popping up on Facebook all month.

These three give some idea of Evelyn’s beauty and grace, and I can honestly say I feel more happy than sad when I see them. I still cry, at least a little, almost every day. But I really do think I’m moving forward. Hopefully, the support group leader’s assessment is right.

Left to right: 2018; with grandson Miles 2019; with Ed and Peggy Sweeney, Good Friday 2023.