Tyler, You are Missed

We had an appointment this week with Tyler's psychiatrist to continue working on making his life better through medication and other changes.  It does seem that since lowering one of his meds, he has become a little more awake and aware, which also seems to make him a little more interactive.  His aggression has also stabilized, so maybe instead of "being in the weeds", we are simply in the rough.

Sitting in the office with Tyler and other staff, I could see Tyler wanting my attention.  This is the first time in a while I had seen him seek me out like that, so I moved close to him and gave him all the attention he wanted.

It hit me very strongly afterward just how much I miss him.  I'm not talking about in the sense that I miss the everyday interactions with him (which I do miss also), but I miss him in the sense that I imagine people with parents with Alzheimer miss them.   I miss the expressive and joyful Tyler.  I miss the Tyler that would have insisted I hold my attention to him and him alone, and the rest of the room would have had to taken a back seat.  I miss goofing off with him so much that I would get the giggles right along with him so much that I would need to apologize to those trying to talk with us. 

There may be nothing more frustrating for a caregiver that to watch a person fade away.  Sometimes that person can seem so close to the surface, and yet you can't reach them.  I want for everyone to enjoy that Tyler that I knew, and I want Tyler to enjoy being goofy and expressive, but it continues to elude us.

I don't know whether Tyler is simply hidden behind his medications, hidden behind depression, or if his brain has been so battered and bruised, that he has become lost forever.  Considering that he has been under the influence of countless medications for a quarter century, its hard to believe that his mind wouldn't have significant residual effects of this.  Surgeries have invaded his brain, and seizures have short-circuited it. 

Perhaps the worst part is the not knowing.  I want to believe that we can find the right combination of medication and circumstance that he finds that strong and cheerful persona he had so many years ago.  But it is just that...many years ago.  The regression has been like an army marching slowly toward an unknown destination.  It doesn't stop, it doesn't yield, it just consumes mile after mile. 

I told him yesterday that I missed him.  He signed "I love you" to me.  Its enough to make me continue digging in to find him, no matter where he has gone.

Be well and God bless.    Tom