After spending a couple of days going to see my parents earlier this week, I came home to a dying hedgehog. Yes, that’s right. A hedgehog. Dying. Charles hasn’t been eating or drinking or really moving around much. Let’s just ignore the fact that my Dad pretty much has ALL of those symptoms. What do you do to save a hedgehog? My husband and I were able to squeeze some water in his mouth and he peeked up a little. The daughter who Charles belongs to is a freshman at BYU, and even though she’ll be home tomorrow for the weekend, it was looking pretty iffy that he would survive. We talked on the phone for a minute and she said she would FaceTime with us right after class. When she called, she was in tears and when my husband went to put the phone by Charles, he was already gone.

Those of you who know me, know that I am not a pet person. It’s a lot of work to have an animal depend on you. And a lot of poop. I have enough people in my life that have to be fed and comforted and loved and cleaned up after. Plus, I had to deal with their poop! But I know that the pets in our family are loved. And the hardest part of today was watching my husband deal with his own heartbreak because his little girl was sad.

The sandwich squeeze

I don’t like to be uncomfortable. Who does, really? But one of my biggest concerns in life is making sure the people around me are comfortable. That they feel loved and cared for. That they matter and their feelings matter. And that both their struggles and happiness are of utmost importance to me. This stage of life is becoming extremely uncomfortable. I find myself in what is called the Sandwich Generation—adults in their 40s and 50s with aging parents and also fledgling adult children of our own. I also have three young granddaughters and a high school sophomore. I find that I cannot do everything and be everywhere at once. And I feel that sandwich squeeze! Dying father, dying hedgehog, new mom with a new baby who could definitely use more help than I’ve been able to give, new college student…and I’m still not 100% after my PRK surgery. Plus, my husband could probably use a little attention, as well.

I haven’t seen my dad for a couple of months. I always think that I’m prepared for the deterioration in his physical and mental state. I’m not. There is no way to prepare for watching your father die in slow motion. My newest little grand gained like 12 oz in one week. My father has lost probably 60 lbs in the last year. I can see his skull. His voice is starting to go. His speech this time was even more labored than usual, and he couldn’t really speak louder than a whisper. Mostly, he communicated using two or three words and I would try to guess what he was asking. He really struggled to remember names this time. And when my mom had me take him to the clubhouse to “exercise”…..

Does this remind you of a movie character? Like maybe this one?

I actually think the sloth in Zootopia is a little livelier than my dad.

But back to my question, does anybody have a map? I mean for navigating this stage of life. We just saw Dear Evan Hansen when we were in NYC last week and the opening number is his mom asking this question.

“Does anybody have a map?

Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?

I don’t know if you can tell but this is me just pretending to know.

So, where’s the map?

I need a clue ‘cause the scary truth is

I’m flying blind and I’m making this up as I go.“

Honestly, I’m pretty much always winging it through life. I’m a huge planner and control freak, but I’m married to a guy who was a pilot in the Air Force for 20 years, and now he flies for Delta. I never got to choose where we were going or for how long and I NEVER knew when he would be home from work, because they scheduled all the sorties for the next day at the last possible minute. I had to learn to be adaptable and flexible and confident that I could handle anything thrown my way. So I would plan stuff to the last detail and then be ready to throw that plan out the window.

But I am SERIOUSLY making it up as I go, now. Learning how to grieve while my father is still alive-there is no instruction manual for that. Trying to respect my mom’s version of reality, (which is pretty much denial, because that’s what gets her through the day) while stopping myself from shiving her with a chopstick is not covered in any how-to book. (Is shiving a word? Or is it shanking?) Trying to make a meaningful connection with someone who isn’t always lucid and is becoming increasingly non-verbal. I am definitely flying blind. But I am learning a couple of things that might help someone else going through this.

It’s temporary.

My discomfort is temporary. His dementia is not. Although, in the long run it is also temporary. It will end when his life does. So I can have a positive attitude for him even if I want to run away, put on my pjs and eat my feelings.

You have to repeat yourself. A lot.

Repetitive questions are just part of our interactions now. I need to tell him my new granddaughter’s name as many times as he asks me, without sounding impatient. He doesn’t remember that we had this exchange 20 minutes ago. Remember 10-second Tom from 50 First Dates?

He wants to feel important

He wants to feel like he matters. That he’s not invisible. I try really hard to talk TO him instead of ABOUT him. Honestly, this is hard for me. Just the talking, I mean. My dad and I share a diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder. You can read about that a little bit HERE. I started medication at age 28. He didn’t even go to the doctor until I was in college. Because of that battle he was fighting, my entire childhood he was very inconsistent with his mood and energy level. The energy he did have was spent trying to teach me and help me achieve and yes, lecture me. We never had an unimportant conversation. It was ALL business, ALL the time. So I never got comfortable just hanging out with my dad. Now that I have walked in his moccasins, mentally, and reached a point in my life where I think we can just have an easy, chatty conversation, that opportunity has been stolen by this new disease. It grieves and angers me and yet in some ways, it is a blessing. I am now talking to a more childlike, less intimidating, more emotional version of my father. So I’m okay telling him over and over again that my husband is in Paris this week or that my newest granddaughter is named Micaiah. And he LOVES looking at pictures of my children, the grands, and anything else I want to show him. I try to bring him little treats he likes, things he enjoys eating, take him through the Wendy’s drive through for a frosty. It doesn’t matter what we do. He just wants some time and attention from me and I am lucky enough to be close enough to have this time with him.

So, back to the map. There is one, after all. I had a mission president who told us every day that “Love is the motivation of God.” That is one of the most profound truths I have ever learned. If my motivation can also be centered in love, than I can and will be able to make it through this squeeze—new babies, drivers tests, and yes, even hedgehog funerals.

We had one, actually.

This is not a death portrait, FYI. Just a picture of Charles last year when I noticed he matched my fall decor.

My husband made him a little coffin, and dig a deep hole so he wouldn’t be dug up by our dog. I had some flowers, and so did a couple of Ellie’s sweet friends who came to support her.

Here’s what I learned from the hedgehog dying: life is hard and sometimes sad and we can be knocked off our feet, emotionally by something that seems trivial to others. But watching my husband, who may not be perfect, but is pretty fan-damn-tastic, grieving with and for his little girl, reminded me of the fact that there is a perfect, omniscient, omnipotent, and loving Father who mourns with me, his daughter. That he feels my hurt and stress and exhaustion and anxiety and inadequacy in this stage of my life, right along with me. I MATTER TO HIM. The same way that my daughter matters to my husband.

So Rest In Peace, my spiky friend. I am grateful for the reminder that all of God’s creatures are loved beyond measure. And the discovery that I had the map in my heart the whole time. But let’s not kid ourselves—I’m still winging it!