Looking for Me?

The changes in him were almost undetectable at first ... a slight shuffle when he walked, minor declines in his ability to perform routine tasks, ever-so-subtle personality changes, slight confusion regarding locations or times, a forgotten word now and again ... changes that were easily attributable to the normal aging process. My family desperately clung to the quickly fading hope that he was just getting older and slowing down a bit, but eventually the devastating diagnosis came ...  my dad had Alzheimer's disease. For the next nine years, we watched helplessly as the man we knew as Daddy ... the man with the twinkling brown eyes, quick smile and hilarious sense of humor ... disappeared before our very eyes. 

My children and I lived in Florida for most of the time during Daddy's illness, coming home once or twice a year for a far-too-short week-long visit. For many years I spent most of those visits gazing into my dad's eyes, holding his weathered hands in mine, hoping for just a brief glimpse of the man he once was. I spent years looking for my dad ... for the Daddy I knew him to be ... the Daddy I so wanted him to be once again. I distinctly remember the day I gave up all hope of ever seeing him again ... it was the day he looked up at me with the empty, blank stare that had stolen away the twinkle in his eyes ... it was the day he looked into my eyes and whispered, "Who are you?" That was the moment when I realized that the man who knew me better than anyone else ever could was no longer there ... that was the day I stopped looking for the dad I used to know and began the heartbreaking journey toward accepting and loving the dad he had become.

Over the last three years or so, I've tried my best to be open, honest, real and transparent as I've shared my struggle with depression, and I've done so in the hope that my story might help even just one person in the midst of their own fight. I've said over and over again that depression is a vicious and nasty beast, and I know beyond any doubt that were it not for the help of my life-saving head doctor and the cocktail of antidepressants I take each day, I wouldn't be alive today. I could write a gazillion posts about all the lousy things that accompany living with depression ... whoa ... just typing those words, living with depression, is kind of a big deal to me, you know. Depression came so very close to killing me three years ago, friends ... I think it's a pretty big freaking deal that today I can say I'm living with depression.

For as difficult as a day in the life of dealing with the medically documented chemical imbalance that now resides within my brain can be, without question the worst of the worst are those days when I feel like I'm losing the real me ... the happy, lighthearted, joke-cracking, story-telling me ... the days when I stare blankly into the eyes of my mind and ask, "Who are you?" Or perhaps the more accurate question for me isn't "Who are you?" but rather "Where are you?" You see, unlike my dad or countless other people who were or currently are imprisoned by the hopelessness of Alzheimer's disease, I know who I am and even more important, I know who I want to be. Trust me, friends, I'm truly the only one who knows who I am, and I most certainly am the only one who knows who I want to be.

Sometimes I wonder if my dad was aware of what was happening to him ... I wonder if he was still in there somewhere during those times when I sat looking into his eyes ... hoping, praying, wishing for a glimpse of the man I knew he really and truly was. I can make myself crazy with that kind of thinking, you know ... wondering if Daddy was shouting on the inside, "Looking for me? I'm right here! Don't stop looking, Sam ... I'm here ... I'm here ... I'm here." I've had several people tell me recently that I haven't been myself for quite a while, and that they need me to be me. Today I was goofing around at work and my friend Micah took a photo of me and I posted it on Facebook. Another friend left a two-word comment on my photo that spoke volumes to me ... two little words that contained within them a powerful, powerful message that I've been unable to get out of my mind all day. She said, "She's back." Just go ahead and think on that for a while, maybe a really good long while ... I know I'll be thinking about it for a long, long time to come.

Looking for me? I'm right here! Please don't stop looking ... I promise I'm right here. I'm here ... I'm here ... I'm here. Please don't stop looking, friends ... please don't ever stop looking.