The Hidden Grief Of Losing Independence

Fall is beautiful.  Golden, pumpkin-orange, and crimson leaves against a backdrop of evergreens are stunning.  The mustard yellows, mingle with russet, olive green and camel brown bring together an explosion of breathtaking color.

It’s also the time for Fall cleaning before the preparation of closing up the house for the upcoming winter.  The early morning air is crisp and clear, until the sun warms up the afternoon. 

FALL TO-DO LIST

Fall always seems to come with a list—gardens to clean, wood to stack, canning to finish.  All preparations for the ‘rest’ of winter. I’ve always enjoyed that sense of accomplishment at the end of a productive day, even when I couldn’t check off that last one on the list!

PRODUCTIVE WITHOUT A LIST

Charles was one of those people, who for years worked like he had a list 

only he never wrote one down, regardless of the season!  But he’d go to work in the morning… come home for lunch and some days even change out of work clothes and cut the grass or do some other ‘chore’—take a quick shower and be off to work again for the rest of the afternoon; or after dinner, he’d head outside to tackle a project.  

DEDICATED

As time passed, he did that less and less, but he still stayed dedicated to doing the ‘outside work’ on the weekends.  He made sure we had firewood, kept the grass cut so it always looked nice, worked in the garden doing the big stuff he thought I shouldn’t.  But mostly he and our trusty German Shepherd, hung out in the garage.  

His favorite thing was buying an old car and fixing it up.  He loved tinkering with engines—and he was good at it….until he didn’t. Granted the ‘computerized cars’ were different and certainly more challenging, but that made him happy.  And he was forever fixing things, like crock pots that would fail, or a pressure cooker that went wonky.  It was his ‘thing’.  He loved it!

NOTHING LEFT

As time passed, there were days when he’d walk out into the garage and be gone only a few minutes.  He’d come back in totally frustrated, clearly defeated. Sitting in his chair, he’d be lost in thought.  I wondered where ‘he’d gone’.  He seemed to no longer have any ambition to ‘tackle’ anything. The man who always knew exactly what to do suddenly couldn’t decide where to begin.

What was he thinking?  Was he grieving the man he used to be?  Did PTSD make every decision feel tangled, or was his failing body simply stealing the strength he once reveled in, and relied on?  I never really knew. We knew his body was shutting down, if for no other reason than the doctor’s told him so.  Scan’s would show deterioration to his organs even though his bloodwork, usually came back perfectly fine.  The ‘pills’ had all that under control.

ONE MORE THING

So why all the failures?  There was always something else wrong.  We saw it time after time.  PTSD doesn’t only affect emotions, it can make planning, organizing, and even deciding where to begin feel overwhelming.  Watching someone who once tackled every project with confidence become paralyzed by simple decisions, is heartbreaking.

There were constant changes.  As the season set in, the weather played another hand.  The sharp edges of the the wind would take his breath away and cause his outer scars to tingle and burn.  He was far from being an ‘old man’, yet he’d become frail and sick.  Even his mind betrayed him.  PTSD and war chemicals can do that to a person.  

HOLDING TIGHT TO THE MOMENTS

Fall would come again and each year, it felt a little less beautiful.  The colors were still brilliant, but they were now tinged with fear of what would come next, grief over what was slipping away, and the deepening desire to hold tightly to those moments that still remained.