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an Alzheimer's story... by MaryJane Escobar, experiencer,
from a dialogue on nde@yahoogroups.com
Dear All,
I have often wondered what happens to the soul, spirit and onsciousness
of an end stage Alzheimer's disease sufferer. Their bodies are
here on earth in a vegetative state with only the lower function of breathing remaining. They are often force-fed to
keep them alive and remain in the hell on earth they must be enduring. To me this loss of self is the most awful of
diseases.
Why does god not take them and release them from the hell on earth
they and their families must endure?
My Grandmother, the one I am named after, died
of Alzheimer’s disease. Now, I only saw her once during her last year, and it was only a few hours. But for me, it was
anything but the way you perceive it..
I was 26 years old, and I went to see my family
in Arizona. I went to my biological parents’ house. My last visit; my last try. My grandmother was the biological
mother of my mother (I’ll call her Joan), and I was named after my grandmother, MaryJane.
I saw my Grandmother seated in a chair that swallowed
up her tiny self. N ow, before Alzheimer’s, this woman was quite the pistol.
I had - thank God! - the infrequent opportunity
to stay with her as a child. She was a hard-core alcoholic and chain smoker. We played Yahtzee, and to her very
angry dismay, I won every game. She was never sweet to me. She was indifferent, cold and aloof, to say the least.
My mother, Joan, healed and was able to give her
mother something she never received from her… love. Lots of it. I watched in amazement the patience, attention
and devotion of which Joan was capable. It caused me to feel longing and hurt that she could only give this in her dying
mother’s absence of mind.
But I too had my own moment with Grandmother, at a point when she was otherwise
oblivious to me. I was just another smiling face to her until she had a moment of recognition… and even an apology
of sorts.
I was sitting at her feet and just watching everything
going on and suddenly out of the clear blue I heard, "MaryJane!"
I looked up and half expected to be wrong but
it was her - my grandmother calling our shared name. I looked at her incredulously, and asked her… "What?"
I could not say another word. She truly had not recognized anyone for a very long time, and last of all me. I
never expected recognition; no one did.
She looked at me, not with the slanted peering
eyes I remember as a child - but with warmth and compassion - and said, "You won every damn game! And I never
said, ‘Good job!’"
Then in the following moment she was gone again
.
I cried ....... and cried ...... and truly have
always been so grateful to know that she - my mean grandmother - had loved me too after all .
Now that is my story, my experience with Alzheimers.
It may not be so much to read, but afterward my perceptions were changed about unknown things, about how God’s great
hands are always in the middle, somehow influencing, somehow showing us his ways through the most difficult of situations
in our lives... if we open our eyes and ears just enough to have this passed to us. Sometimes its only in a few words
and being open enough to receive the message, as it was for me.
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forgiving child abusers (1)... by Linda
Stewart, experiencer, moderator nde@yahoogroups.com
The more I talk with people, the more I
realize how many people have been abused in various forms. A curious thing I've noticed, also, is that often those who
have been abused are the one's who learn to bring peace into the world.
As the target of abuse in my family,
I vowed to never hit a child of mine. I broke the chain of abuse in my family. My sister was not able to.
This has been interesting for me because I love my sister deeply and I was confounded by the fact that she could do to her
children what was done to us. But even that helped me learn about non-judgment because I could, at the same time, understand
why she did - she wasn't able to control her own rage that had been handed down to her.
I got to thinking why my parents - father
in particular - who was such a GOOD man in almost every other way, and much loved by the people in his church and community
- could treat his children with such rage. I realized he was like my sister, whom I love, and was not able to break
the chain. When I started looking into his family, I found my father was also the victim of abuse.
So "who do I blame?", I asked myself?
His parents, my grandparents? Why were they the way they were? How far back in history do I have to go before
I find someone to blame.
And I realize, as long as I am looking for
someone to blame, I am not taking personal responsibility for not only my actions (because I had already broken the chain
of physical abuse) but my *thoughts*. I can't blame ANYONE, at any time - even in history.
I look at the overall picture of the
human experience and recognize that at any given point in time, every human being has a choice to make. Some make choices
that accelerate their spiritual evolution, some may choices that may slow the process. None of that matters. The
only, ONLY choice any of us ever has control over are the choices we make for ourselves.
I simply cannot live a life of judging and
not forgiving. It is only when I drop those two things that I can accomplish non-resistance and compassionate detachment.
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You are not alone. As a child I
too was abused, probably it's the
reason my wife and myself work with abused kids today. In my case, it was my mom.
It seems that I was the target for her anger
for whatever reason. She would beat me quite regularly. I would go to school with purple belt marks across my
face. I learned to put my arm up and let the belt wrap around my arm so it wouldn't hurt as much. I also learned
not to cry out so that I could show her she wasn't really hurting me.
It was so frequent that when she would
just walk by me at the dinner table I would flinch and duck expecting a slap, even when I hadn't done anything wrong. My sister
said she would close the door and cover her ears so as not to have to hear the beatings.
But that wasn't the worse part.
Many nights when my sister and brother were in bed she would make me stand before her and lsiten to her lectures about how
I was no damned good, just like my dad. I would stand there till purple dots were in front of my eyes and she would
finally release me and I could go to bed. Of course, then I would lie in bed and fantasize making her listen to me.
Then I would feel guilty for that too. There was other weird stuff too. She was obviously not well.
By the time I was 15 I ran away from
home permanently but I took her with me in my head. Wherever I went, I hated my guts. I would look at my
reflection in a mirror and spit at it. When no one was looking I would hit myself. By this time I wasn't too well
either. I thought of suicide daily and felt like a useless piece of junk.
Something that realy helped me was
this. I learned that I am not my defects of character. If I was then when I lost one there would be less of me
but it doesn't work that way. On the contrary, when I lose fear, there is more of me. When I lose anger I am able to
be free and do more things for others.
So I came to see that all these
"dirty" things inside ARE NOT ME! They are just so much garbage I picked up along the way. Just extra baggage
that I can let go of when I am ready at any time.
Have you ever looked into a baby's eyes?
I have and they are beautiful,
wonderful, innocent. I n other words we get here ok and then they go to work on us.
W e are God's kids, made in God's image, we are perfect inside.
So what I am trying to tell you is this:
we are not these dirty things, we are lovely and when we get behind these things we come at last to see that we always were
God's kids, perfect just as we are.
After coming out of this home, and after
I got away from mom, I still had a big problem. I felt anger or resentment towards her, or maybe just rage inside. I
stuffed it away and felt that it was the past. But it wasn't. I used to think that when she died I wouldn't feel
anything. I was wrong.
I was married to a nice lady for 4 years
and we were having problems (what a surprise). We went to see a woman I really looked up to. She had a lot of
Recovery and an MS degree in counseling. One night she asked me about my mom and pressed a little too hard. I
stood up to leave and she asked me if she could have a hug. I said no, and just walked out determined never to return.
(nothing wrong here) but every time I would get a call on the phone from my mom, you know, there was this terrible knot
inside. I hated her, period.
Finally, a couple years later, when
I could stand it no more I went back to this lady whom I respected and was willing to do whatever it took to get free.
Here is what she suggested.
I went home and wrote a letter to my
mom. (I did not mail it) I told her what I had always wanted to tell her, four
letter words included. I wrote slowly at first until my pen began to fly across the pages. As I got BEHIND the
anger I could no longer see the page as I realized that all I ever really wanted was for her to tell me she loved
me. I took this writing to this counselor and read it to her. She suggested that I begin to see my mom
through an adult's eyes. I thought I was free but I still wasn't.
Some weeks later I ran across an article
and in it the man suggested praying for those we hate. He suggested that it would set us and them free. Well, as I said
I was willing to do anything to get rid of this stuff. S o every night I gave my FIRST prayers to my mom. I
didn't feel it at first but slowly after many nights I began to mean it (a little) ;o)
I continued and one night I realized
that I really did mean it when I asked God to send her Peace and Happiness. A week or so later she called and I talked
with her for a while and hung up. Suddenly in dawned on me that I didn't have the knot in my gut . It was gone!
I was free.
About 30 days later I determined to go
and see her. I picked her up and took her to a park. She sat on the grass and I played a few songs for her
on the guitar. I spent the day loving my mom as best I could and even when she asked me to get her bottle
of vodka from her purse, it was ok, I got it for her.
You see it was no longer necessary to
make her over. I was able to Love her exactly as she was. I took her back to her hotel and felt free from all that resentment.
I was clean inside and I knew it.
That was the last day I ever saw her
because 30 days later she died.
I am so grateful to have had that day
. I could have missed it if I hadn't done the work to get free. But due to God's grace and some hard work I don't have
to carry around that anger inside anymore.
Forgiveness is not for
the other person - it is for us! When we forgive it doesn't mean we don't see the wrong because we do.
It means we no longer carry anything inside and we set ourselves free to be clear and clean inside. Then we can go within
and not be afraid of what we might find there. We can go within and discover that right within us is the very Presence
of God that we have been seeking out here all these years.
Today, I love my mom. I know she has
had her life review and I pray she wasn't too hard on herself. Mom, it's ok, just go into the Light. And I'm looking
forward to that hug, once we meet again.
If it is real scary to go in there,
don't do it alone. Find someone that understands that will help you with this part of your journey. A counselor, a therapist, a spiritual advisor. But do it. You only have to do it once. Does
it hurt, oh hell yeah, is it worth it, I've never been so free.
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