Tag Archives: grief

I GIVE MYSELF GRACE

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14. KNOW THAT GRIEF DOES NOT PROCEED IN ORDERLY, PREDICTABLE “STAGES”.

Be compassionate with yourself as you experience your own unique grief journey (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D Wolfelt, PhD, 2005)

I have finally, after 11+ years, arrived at a place where I can give myself some grace. I no longer feel the need to punish myself for my son’s death. I write this with some trepidation, although I note that I did not write “I no longer blame myself or feel guilt”.

I have finally arrived at the place where I can truly mourn his death. The horror of finding him is less obtrusive. It no longer blunts the grief as much. 

I visited his grave the other day. I straightened the angel on the decorated Christmas tree someone left there…likely his dad or sister. They also left a panda ornament hanging on the headstone, one of his favorite animals. It was bitter sweet. I believe I said, “Hey Brat,” as I looked at his photo embedded in the stone. I didn’t stay long, but it was different from other visits. I was present. I remained in my body.

I think having both of my daughters and my grandchildren with me on Christmas Eve helped to bring along this softening. I feel more at peace. I am ending this year on a more self-compassionate note.

I AM SUPPORTED BY OTHERS

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UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #6: Receive ongoing support from others.

  • Grief is experienced in “doses” over years, not quickly and efficiently, and you will need the continued support of your friends and family for weeks, months and years.  (Alan D. Wolfelt, PH.D., HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

It’s been more than eleven years, and yes, I need continued support. I “accidentally” found my Survivors of Suicide group one evening, when I walked into my local county library branch and saw a hand-written sign that said “SOS”. The facilitator of the group, now my friend, likes to say it was the Holy Spirit that brought me in. I can’t disagree. At the very least, it was a “wink” from God or the Universe.

This group meets monthly in person and via Zoom, but also socially from time to time. It’s a group none of us would have chosen to join, but we find ease and comfort in each others’ presence as we share losses that are difficult for others, who have not, to understand.

Some of us recently attended the International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day program hosted by our state’s Traumatic Loss Coalition (TLC), sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). Events are held annually on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Our event included the showing of a video of interviews with survivors of suicide loss, updating their journey; a panel discussion with survivors on how their journey has been and continues; a lunch; and, breakout groups. I co-facilitated the mothers group with another mom. We’ve done this together several times now. This event is the only time we see each other, but we are closely tied together and share a warm hug when we meet.

A bunch of us from the SOS group travelled together to Survivor Day and socialized afterward at our driver’s house. His wife didn’t attend, but she cooked for us, and we all brought something to share. Others came only to the social gathering. It was good to be with them all. There is a love there that knows no bounds and I am forever grateful for the “accident” that brought me to them.

THERE IS NO MEANING

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12. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #5: Search for meaning

  • “Why?” questions may surface uncontrollably and often precede “How?” questions. “Why did this happen?” comes before “How will I go on living?”

CARPE DIEM:

Write down a list of “why” questions that have surfaced for you since the death. Find a friend or counselor who will explore these questions with you without thinking she has to give you answers. ( HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D Wolfelt, PH.D., 2005)

I didn’t ask why then; and, I don’t ask why now. I believed I knew. I believed and continue to believe it was my fault. Oh, there’s a part of me that gives him the dignity of making his own choice, but if I hadn’t told him that day that he had to move out…If I hadn’t told him, “My heart is broken”…he would still be here.

I didn’t and don’t blame God. As a matter of fact, in a spiritual direction session, I asked Jesus where he was when Joseph died. He told me he was here with him. I saw Joseph walk right into his arms and say to Jesus, “You ARE real!” 

For that I am grateful. 

The “Why?”s I do have include: 

“Why did God give me not one but THREE mentally ill children?” 

“What was he thinking?” 

I thought I did a good job raising them. No, I didn’t. I struggled and judged myself. But I worked so hard at it. I STUDIED to be a mother. I didn’t feel I had any “mother’s intuition”. I had NO IDEA how to be a parent. I read and reread the Gesell books with each of my four children, Birth to One Year, Your One Year Old, Your Two Year Old, etc…Between Parent and Teenager. I read Parent Effectiveness Training. I took trainings. I reached out for all the help I could get. 

I thought I was doing them a favor by letting them be who they were. Now I wonder. Nah. I still believe letting our children be who they are is best…a gift.

I remember, when they were young, thinking “I don’t know what I would do if I had special needs children.” Well, most of them were, are, special needs. It just all seemed normal to me having grown up in my family. 

Joseph had made multiple suicide attempts before he died. I believe my comment, “My heart is broken,” after discovering he had been using again, released him. Maybe he held on so long because he knew I couldn’t handle it if he died. Maybe that comment made him think I’d be better off without him. Who knows?

TODAY, I REMEMBER THAT HE LIVED

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11. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #3: Remember the person who died.

  • To heal, parents need to actively remember the child who died and commemorate the life that was lived. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Thursday, October 16, was Joseph’s birthday. He would have turned 34 years old. 

Joseph liked to bake blondies, butterscotch brownies. I still wear a white zippered hoodie that belonged to him, when it is chilly in the house. I still have a signed cast from one time he broke a bone in his hand. He did that a few times…punching the floor, punching a wall…and hitting a beam, punching a heavy sandbag.

I still call his bedroom “Joseph’s room”, except for the few times my grandchildren (actual and “adopted”) lived in it. I still make the bed with his comforter. I just switched it up from the blue one he used as an adult to the Harry Potter one he used as a kid. He introduced me to Harry Potter. I still have books Three through Seven. We had taken the first and second ones out of the library, so I don’t own those; although, I keep looking at used book sales hoping to pick them up. I own all of the movies related to those books – some on VHS, some on DVD. I have done a marathon, watching them when I was home sick. I bought an old TV with a built-in VHS player at Goodwill for $8.99. I have other movies and shows on VHS as well.

As I write this, I am looking at school photos of all of my kids that are hanging in my living room. For the eldest, there is a photo of her shaking hands with the Dean at her college graduation. For the middle two, there are high school graduation photos; although, they have both also graduated from community college. Number three will graduate with her Bachelors next spring; and, her daughter will graduate from high school. For Joseph there is a photo from his junior year in high school. He didn’t graduate. I was tired of going to high school, for my kids. At the end of his junior year, Joseph didn’t have enough credits to move on to his senior year. I signed him out. I was done. He aced the test for his GED. He was extremely bright. That wasn’t the problem. Last year, for the tenth anniversary of his death, I reached out to the community college he had been attending. Although he hadn’t graduated, he had enough credits to do so. I was able to reach someone who followed up for me and the college issued an honorary Associates degree for him.

One summer, as a kid, he attended a computer camp at the community college. When I went to pick him up one day, the teacher came up to me and told me that he had been teaching the kids how to program their computers to play a musical scale. Joseph wrote a program to play Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”. 

Joseph liked cinnamon-dusted apple cider donuts from Delicious Orchards, a farm market in our area. One time, when he was living with his sister, I picked some up and dropped them off for him. I don’t go there often, but when I do, I still want to pick them up for him. 

EMBRACING THE PAIN

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9. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #2: Embrace the pain of the loss

  • This need requires mourners to embrace the pain of their loss – something we naturally don’t want to do. It is easier to avoid, repress or push away the pain of grief than it is to confront it. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

I am suddenly struck by how ludicrous the second part of the title of the above-referenced book is…”Practical Ideas After Your Child Dies”??? Seriously? What is practical after your child dies? I cast no aspersions against Dr. Wolfelt here. I heard him speak. He is full of compassion. I am keenly aware that being struck this way, in this moment, is more likely avoidance on my part. Not that I haven’t and don’t continue to embrace the pain of the loss of my son. It’s just that suddenly, I am being bombarded with multiple memories of how I have and have not dealt with the pain of losing him. 

At first, I was cleaved in two, like a sword split me open. I was all raw emotion, crying endlessly. There was no solemnity in my grief at his wake. I cried throughout, falling into the arms of whoever came up to me to share their condolences. Well, except for two people that I can think of. One who actually came up to me and asked, “What happened?”, which was beyond my capacity to respond to at the time. The other was someone with whom I had worked. Someone who used my name to get the job even though we had met only once, briefly. Someone who treated our staff like pawns on a chess board, moving them around at her will. Someone through whom I ultimately left said job. When I saw her, I was in the arms of a former professor. I said to her, “I can’t believe that bitch had the nerve to show up here”, or something to that effect. She suggested I greet the woman and come back to her. I stiffly reached out a hand to shake, listened to some platitudes, and again hugged my professor. I am so grateful to her for that. And the tears resumed.

At the funeral Mass, I cried constantly, falling to my knees and sobbing out loud at one point.

I had a hard time going back to work. Then I embraced positions in suicide prevention like I could stop it from ever happening again. No one was ever going to die by suicide on my watch. 

The first time I walked in an AFSP Out of the Darkness Walk, I dissociated and separated from my family group, walking in the other direction. I don’t know if they realized I was missing. Before the walk started, we had each held a balloon upon which we had written our loved one’s name. Then we let them go. I held on to mine for a long time. I couldn’t let it…him…go. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of attendees. All of those people who had lost someone to suicide. 

I participated in another walk years later. A friend walked with me. My daughter, who volunteers with AFSP, introduced me to another griever who walked with us. She, too, has become a friend. This year I walked with her and a few other folks from my Survivors of Suicide group. As I write this, I realize I missed our monthly meeting last night. It completely slipped my mind. There’s a social gathering of the group this weekend. I may go to that.

So…embracing the pain…yeah…I do that…involuntarily. It sneaks up on me.

FIRST NEED OF MOURNING

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8. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #1: Acknowledge the reality of the death.

  • Your child has died. This is probably the most difficult reality in the world to accept. Yet gently, slowly and patiently you must embrace this reality, bit by bit, day by day. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Eleven years later and there is still a part of me that does not acknowledge that Joseph, my son, is dead. Even though I found him. Even though I…as instructed by the 911 operator I finally reached after multiple attempts…cut down his cold stiff body and futilely administered CPR. A part of me still does not believe he is dead. 

A shift occurred inside of me at that moment. When I walked through the front door and saw him, I screamed and screamed. I dropped whatever I was holding. I went looking for my home phone, pacing around. Some part of me knew that when I called 911 it needed to be from my landline, so they knew where the call was coming from. I dialed and got no answer, twice. The third time someone finally answered. 

That shift? This is not Joseph. That shell? No, that was not Joseph. That whistling sound coming through his locked teeth as I administered compressions? That was not coming from my boy. My boy was gone. His spirit had flown away and this empty shell was not him.

My boy. Yes, he was 22 years old, but he will always be my boy. My boy. My brilliant, beautiful, stinky boy. My boy, who gave the best, tightest hugs. My boy, with a delightful sense of humor. Once, when he came home from a day at a partial care program, he asked me how I would describe him in one word. I immediately said, “Delightful”. He said, “Really?” How did he not know? How did he not know how much I delighted in his being? How did I not communicate that to him? 

We did not talk much. He had returned to my home after living with his sister, rehab stays, including out of state, and hospitalizations. He had been discharged from a residential program because he was not attending school as required. They dropped him off at a Dunkin Donuts until the shelter he was scheduled to go to opened. He spent the night in the shelter, awake, due to his ongoing anxiety issues, which was why he was not making it to school. He showed up at my door the next night, smelling like alcohol. I had been asleep. Of course, I let him in. He lay down on top of the covers next to me. I tossed a throw blanket over him. A year went by. He spent most of his time in his room on his computer, which he built himself. As I said, he was brilliant.

We went out to eat one night that last week. Again, neither of us said much. Looking back, he seemed subdued, but so was I. 

Then I found he was using DXM again; and, I told him he could no longer stay. Well, he did not stay. DAMMIT! 

He is gone. My beautiful, delightful, stinky boy. Buried in the cold ground.

It was him. 

COMPASSION FOR MY CHILDREN

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7. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SURVIVING CHILDREN

  • Grieving siblings are often “forgotten mourners”. This means that their parents and family as well as friends and society tend to overlook their ongoing grief or attempt to soothe it away.

CARPE DIEM: 

Hold a family meeting and talk to your children about their feelings since the death. Even if the death wasn’t recent, you may uncover lingering resentments, fears and regrets. Expressing these feelings may help bring your family closer together. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENTS’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Sadly, it was a long time before I could look around and see how Joseph’s death affected my children. My youngest daughter is actively involved with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (https://afsp.org/). She is on the Board in our state and is their Social Media Ambassador, with a team of volunteers. She is very open, publicly, about how her brother’s death affected her. On the anniversary of his death, for the past few years, she, her daughter, and I have been going to the beach to watch the sun rise. Afterward, we go to breakfast. One year we threw flowers into the ocean. Another, shells marked with the names of others’ lost loved ones, from an Out of the Darkness Walk (https://afspwalks.donordrive.com/OOTDWalks). We talk about Joseph a lot, but I can’t say that we talk about our feelings. Our relationship has had its ups and downs. She was able to share with me some of the resentments she had toward me that had nothing to do with Joseph. I was able to apologize. Our relationship has gotten better. There is still room for improvement.

My eldest daughter has her own mental health struggles and carries a lot of resentment toward me. We have not had a conversation about it. She has levelled some pretty nasty words toward me. In the hospital emergency room last year, she told me to leave the room when the screener asked her if she would be admitted voluntarily. She then asked her husband to have me come back in and said to me, “My mother is fucking up my life again.” When she came home and I tried to explain to her how, by having the hospital staff give her the contract I drew up for her return to my home, my intention was to tell them she was homeless if she would not agree. Before I could finish my explanation, which was that the hospital would then have to find her an appropriate supportive place to stay, she looked me dead in the eye and said, with venom, “The last time you told someone they were homeless, they killed themselves. Is that what you want?”

When I later recounted this experience to her sister, she looked at me, shrugged and nodded. I remember her saying, “Well, yeah”, but that may just have been my impression from the nod and the shrug.

My other son, well, he has not spoken to me in ten years. Our last conversation was on Mother’s Day 2015, the year after Joseph’s death. I was having a tough day. I had not heard from any of my children, so when he called, I was crying. Trying to hide that fact from him, when he said, “Happy Mother’s Day…ok, gotta go”…or something like that, I said, “Okay”. He sounded surprised; and, we did hang up. If I remember correctly, I then went to the cemetery, where I found my younger daughter and granddaughter. I walked to the grave, crying, and my daughter hugged me. (I could be confusing this day with another…) 

I saw my son sometime after that at my granddaughter’s First Holy Communion. I may have put my hand on his shoulder as I passed him in the pew on my way to receive communion myself. At the end of the Mass, he was gone. The family went out to eat, but I went home. It was just too difficult.

My mother passed away in January, and I saw him at the wake and funeral. I met his girlfriend for the first time and gave her a hug. I said, “Hello, Son” to him. He looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes shifting back and forth. I just walked away, giving him space. I saw him again the next day, at the funeral. I gave him an icon I bought for him in Fatima, Portugal, and had blessed by the Archbishop for the Military. Again, I walked away. We did not sit together at the repast, but he stood with my younger daughter, granddaughter and me for a photo his girlfriend took. She sent me a copy. I am grateful.

So…sitting down for a family meeting with my children for a discussion of our feelings about Joseph’s death, or about anything, is out of the question for now. Maybe someday.

BE COMPASSIONATE WITH OTHERS

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6. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SPOUSE

  • Someone else is grieving this death as deeply as you are. Unless you are widowed or a single parent, the child’s other parent is also mired in grief. Be as compassionate and nonjudgmental as you can be about your partner’s reactions to the death. Give each other permission to mourn differently. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

I was tempted to skip this activity as I do not have a spouse, nor did I have one at the time of my son’s death; but, there are things I can explore here. The night my son died, I called his father and his siblings. I left messages for his dad and one sister to call me back. I reached one sister, who asked how he died and hung up when I told her. I reached his brother, who called me back a couple of times to check on me. I called a neighbor, looking for some kind of support, someplace to go, and left a message there too. I called my parish priest, who told me the funeral home would get in touch with them to make arrangements…no offer to come to my home, which was what I was hoping for, I guess. I was unable to ask for it. Granted it was midnight, but still…I called my dearest friend, Elizabeth, who lived in Maine, and she said she would head down in the morning. Finally, I reached out to my ex-boyfriend, John, who was at his job as a police dispatcher, an hour away. He dropped everything and came to the house. The police asked if I wanted them to get me when he arrived, so I could leave. I did not want to leave until Joseph’s body was gone. Elizabeth called back and said she was on her way. She could not sleep.

Once all the police activity was over and the body removed, John took me to his apartment, where I spent the night. I did not think I would ever be able to return to my house. The next morning, my younger daughter called me. She had gotten the news from her siblings, I guess. John and I went to her apartment. I was expecting my kids, my ex-husband and all of his family, especially his mother, to blame me. After all, I blamed myself. When we arrived at my daughter’s apartment, she took me by the hands, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s not your fault; and, you’re going to need a lot of therapy.” My ex-husband came over and he was gracious to me as well. I felt some relief. 

Finally, I was ready to go home. When John and I arrived at the house, Elizabeth was waiting in the driveway. That is the way our friendship was. (Side note:  Once we met in Massachusetts; she drove from Maine, I from New Jersey. She pulled into the hotel drive right behind me.) She stayed for a few days, while we got through the arrangements. My sister came and stayed with me for a few days after that. John stuck by me throughout; and, we rekindled our relationship for a time. I crashed and burned almost three years later for a period of about nine months (gestational correlation?). Our relationship did not survive. He and I did not talk about grief. I do not really know how he was impacted. When I would have periods of wailing, weeping and moaning, it made him uncomfortable. I remember once, after watching “The Passion” and identifying with Mary’s loss of her Son, kneeling on the floor on the spot where I had laid Joseph’s body, wailing. He left the room. That is not to say that there were not times that he did, indeed, comfort me. Sadly, I was completely oblivious to how Joseph’s loss affected him.

I was in shock, traumatized. I think I am finally coming out of the shock, more than eleven years later, which is why I am willing to do this work now.

SELF-COMPASSION

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BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOURSELF

CARPE DIEM

What are you beating yourself up about these days? If you have the energy (and you won’t always), address the problem head-on. If you can do something about it, do it. If you can’t, try to be self-forgiving. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

What am I beating myself up about these days? Same as always…shoulda, woulda, coulda. If someone came to me with my story, I would be horrified for them, at the trauma of finding their dead child. I would give them grace, listen with compassion and empathy.

But for myself, no. There is nothing I can do about it now. He is gone. Can I forgive myself? That is the hard part. That is the journey I am on now. Because until I do, forgive myself, I cannot get to the grief that lives inside me, externalize it into mourning, and develop a new relationship with my deceased son. I cannot believe that he forgives me. That last day plays over and over in my mind…wishing for a different outcome…

He had made multiple attempts in the past that had no relation to anything I said or did. But that day, the day he died, was after I told him he needed to find somewhere else to live. We had an agreement, no drugs or alcohol. I had found empty packages of cold medications with DXM, dextromethorphan, his drug of choice, robo-tripping. Big deal breaker. I gave him the rest of the weekend to get out. I had locked him out of the house while I went to work…at a psychiatric children’s home…I had offered to give him a ride somewhere. He said he had “no place to go”. In retrospect, that was a big red flag. I had reached out to his sisters and his father, letting them know what was going on. I left him sitting on the deck, using the wifi on his phone. 

We took the teens at the group home to fireworks that night. I left work telling a coworker that I had to go home and deal with my son. I had trouble getting the door open and when I finally did…I screamed and screamed…had difficulty getting through to 911. I will spare you the gory details. One comment only…a police officer kept saying, “Calm down, calm down”. I looked at him as I tried and, in my mind, said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He had found a way in. I could not understand how, but later found my garage unlocked. He must have done that before we walked out of the house.

I have two other children with mental illnesses, who have made attempts in the past. One was living in my house with her husband and son, while I lived and worked in Germany for over a year. She had lost her job shortly after she moved in, so the plan for her to save money and buy a house by the time I came back did not happen. I was not prepared for the condition of my house when I returned…a filthy, hoarder situation. It took me two days to clean my bathroom…a whole bottle of bleach just to get the scale out of the toilet bowl. 

All of our communication while I was away was pleasant. The first indication I had that anything was wrong was a quick pan through one room in our last video call before I came back. I asked if the house was clean, but realized later that she never answered me.

I reached out to my county’s Intensive Family Support Services (https://naminj.org/resources/intensive-family-support-services-ifss/) for help. I had a wonderful consultant, who managed the program, and I attended support group meetings.  About a month after my return, my daughter had a psychotic episode and ended up in the hospital. While she was there, I went through her stuff and got rid of garbage, unused medications, including ketamine she was getting through the mail, and THC vapes. I created a contract, which she refused to sign, but, I informed her that by coming back to my home, she had agreed to it. 

As you can imagine, the history with my son loomed large over the situation. Fortunately, I had the support of my IFSS consultant, who even came to the house to meet with us. After a while, my daughter got herself a hotel room. Her son was staying with his father. I was left with her husband, for whom English is a second language, and all their stuff. After about a month of this, I gave her 30 days notice to vacate. It was a difficult decision, but one I needed to make for my own sanity and well-being. I rarely hear from her, but I reach out via email from time to time. I have learned that I can make plans through her with my grandson, which is a blessing.

GRIEF VS MOURNING

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UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GRIEF AND MOURNING

  • Grief is the constellation of internal thoughts and feelings we have when someone loved dies. Grief is the weight in the chest, the churning in the gut, the unspeakable thoughts and feelings.
  • Mourning is the outward expression of grief. Mourning is crying, journaling, creating artwork, talking to others about the death, telling the story, speaking the unspeakable.
  • Everyone grieves when someone loved dies, but if we are to heal, we must also mourn.

CARPE DIEM:

Ask yourself this: Have I truly been mourning the death of my child or have I restricted myself to grieving? (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Ugh…by this definition, it would appear that I have done both. But, sometimes, I feel like I have done neither. Sometimes I feel like it is all wrapped up in unresolved trauma. Sometimes I feel stuck and isolated and alone. Sometimes I live life like I am okay. Other times, I stay home, with the door closed, and have no contact with the outside world, and listen to the negative committee that lives in my head telling me it is all my fault. The fact that I have two other children who do not talk to me feeds my guilt and sense of worthlessness.

In my friendships and work life, I get lots of positive feedback and love, but that negative committee in my head tells me they have never lived with me. They do not truly know me. If they did, they would see the Gollum (see Lord of the Rings) that lives inside me and know how truly evil I am. Nobody can be harder on me than me…except maybe my kids. 

So, today, I will get out of the house and leave the negative committee home. I will see if my friend, who has dementia and truly appreciates my visits, is up for company.