This touching little thread came across my feed, and -- amid all the bad news these days, we all need something good.
My wife’s mom has Alzheimer’s disease. Earlier tonight, we left her parents alone at their Airbnb while we took the kids to urgent care for ear infections. Her dad fell asleep on the couch. Her mom wandered out the door… 🧵
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
We'll let Dave tell his story:
We rushed back as soon as we heard she was missing. It was dark and raining steadily. Her coat was still on the rack. Her wallet still on the table. I ran up and down the block asking neighbors if they had seen her. We got in our cars and combed the entire neighborhood. No luck.
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
I decided to check out a shopping center a few blocks away hoping that she had been drawn to the bright lights. I drove by the front entrance of the grocery store and, amazingly, saw her through the window sitting at a table in the coffee shop with a woman I didn’t know.
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
I parked and ran into the store. I found them sipping tea and talking cheerfully. I told the woman who I was and thanked her for watching after my mother-in-law. The woman and her partner had noticed her in the parking lot looking confused, so they had guided her into the store.
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
They helped her shop for bread and cookies and then paid for them since she had no money or credit cards. They sat with her while the store employees scrambled to locate her caretaker. They were exactly the people you would hope to find in this situation.
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
I thanked them for treating her with such warmth and dignity. They wouldn’t let me pay them back for the groceries or tea. We don’t know their names or anything else about them, but we will always be thankful that they identified our problem and stopped to help.
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
There are good people left in the world, and our family is eternally grateful. ❤️
— dave (@davethompsonMD) January 28, 2024
Dave's story reminds me of my former neighbor, Martha, who -- in the years before COVID -- was succumbing to dementia herself. She'd often wander over to our house, confusing it for a cabin in the Wisconsin north woods, and my family for those up north friends. My son would accompany her home and I'd call her daughter to come over.
We were always glad Martha never wandered off in the city, but came by us, where she was safe and loved.
But I digress.
The irony is not lost on me that the tweets that inspired this post were penned by a man named Dave. Dave was also the name of my ex-husband, who passed away on January 17 after a very brief, unexpected illness.
And that's what I want to write about, now that the boat has stopped rocking in the wake of his passing and we push forward.
Anyone who has followed me on Twitter will know we divorced in 2018, and those who know me in real life know the details that I will not go into here. Suffice to say it was the necessary choice and I don't regret making it. Nor will I sugar coat it (an online friend said to 'cherry-pick' instead): there are things I wish Dave had done better (and probably things I could have done better). There were times he drove me nuts and disappointed me (and I, him, surely). Yet we found a way to make things work. But there were good times, and three wonderful boys and I am blessed to be their mother.
Grief, in even the best of circumstances, is complicated, ugly, and raw. Add in complex, tense, familial relationships, children under the age of 18, and the abruptness of his death and that grief is amplified tenfold. I deal with grief a lot for work. But -- as with most things nursing -- it is much easier for me to educate and tell my patients and families how to cope with grief than it is to practice what I preach. The grief is not linear, it is a silly straw; a chaotic, twisting thing that sometimes doubles back on itself, sometimes makes no sense, and sometimes is just a tangled mess. There will be good days and bad days, time will help us heal.
I was fortunate to know what Dave's wishes were in the event of terminal or catastrophic illness.
(Here, I'll pause and implore you -- no matter how uncomfortable, hard, or awkward it seems -- to also have those conversations with your loved ones or someone you trust to respect your wishes. It makes difficult situations less so, and leaves those tasked with making decisions with a precious, incalculable gift: the peace they made the right choices. It doesn't take away the grief, but it dulls the sting to varying degrees.)
Knowing this, making the decisions on Dave's behalf was less fraught with doubt than it had been if I were flying blind.
And, when he was gone, the task of arranging the funeral he would have wanted was also mine.
The one recurring thing I've heard from multiple people is their surprise anyone would do this for an ex-spouse. I can understand that; I've known several marriages that ended badly, ones in which the former spouses could barely stand to be in the same room, let alone a hospital room or funeral home.
But there was no other choice, and I didn't have to think about it: it had to be done, and I had to do it. I know no other way of being. Despite the issues we had, I chose -- long ago -- to let go of the vitriol and hatred. They are toxic, and would have harmed me more than anyone. Life was infinitely better without wallowing in the perpetually negative. And we had three boys, all under the age of 18; three boys who have lost their father and now look to me to forge the path as we adjust to life going forward. We have lost someone: them, a father. Me, a friend. We will feel that loss, in varying degrees, for the rest of our lives.
So as this all played out, the boys were watching me, and will be watching me, and I have to show them how to do the right thing. Respecting their father's wishes was the right thing. I can look them in the eye, and look at myself in the mirror, and know that. The lesson is sinking in, it seems. I couldn't be more proud of how the boys have conducted themselves throughout this: with grace, kindness, humor, and wit amid their own grief.
And -- as the story above shows -- doing the right thing doesn't have to be as dramatic or difficult. It can be as simple as seeing a lost woman, and taking a few minutes to treat her with kindness and dignity. It also manifested itself in the dozens and dozens of people who came to the funeral on Friday, who sent flowers and cards, donated to the funeral fund, the countless phone calls, patient advice and guidance, and the unconditional love I felt from the person most important to me.
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