A Loved One’s Physical Decline (Pain and Suffering for Lent)
March 18th, 2026 by G.
She was once the grace of all eyes. She is still beautiful. But when she moves, she moves as one in pain. When she is still, you see the grit of her teeth. She smiles cheerfully…and then sometimes cries for no reason…except for that one, big ever-present reason.
E. C.
March 18, 2026
Or, the decline was sudden and catastrophic, the recovery painfully slow. Her speech is slurred, her ideas expressed only with great difficulty, though her mind is surprisingly untouched.
She laughs when she’d rather cry; some damage to the parts of the brain that regulate emotions. She cries when she wasn’t expecting to, over trivial things she simply can’t do anymore.
She needs help in ways that invade her privacy, and though we try to give her the dignity she desires, it’s hard to do so safely.
Tasks are more difficult now; she has trouble finishing things – again, an invisible injury inflicted by clotted blood in the brainstem.
Her balance is uncertain, and though her strength is returning, every day we, as caregivers, must gauge her ability to do basic things.
Swallowing, especially, has become difficult. She aspirates, coughing horribly long and hard, when she tries to drink thin liquids. Still, she must.
Her suffering is hard to watch, because as much as we try to help, some things, she has to do on her own.