Holding on to what is familiar

Such is Life

Posted 12/6/18

When I first started working at the Tribune, most of the people I interviewed did not know me. I would introduce myself — Tessa Schweigert, as my name was then. To help people get to know me, I …

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Holding on to what is familiar

Such is Life

Posted

When I first started working at the Tribune, most of the people I interviewed did not know me. I would introduce myself — Tessa Schweigert, as my name was then. To help people get to know me, I often would say, “I’m Doug Schweigert’s daughter.” Usually, that would make a connection: Many people know my dad.

Some know him from his days selling cars, tractors or cellphones. Others met him through church. And a lot of people know my dad simply because he’s a friendly guy — the kind who talks to anyone, who enjoys making people laugh and who loves sharing a story.

If you know my dad well, you have seen a change in him, especially in recent years. His memory has worsened and his physical health also has declined. He’s no longer himself in many ways.

For my family, it has been a difficult and heartbreaking transition. I realize it’s also tough for his friends in our community who have known him for a long time.

If I dwell on what has changed, it’s easy for me to become upset or saddened. So, I’ve tried to hold on to what is still familiar.

My dad’s faith hasn’t wavered. Even though he may no longer recall old memories or recognize once familiar faces, he still remembers who God is, and his loving kindness. When my dad was in a hospital bed with a brain bleed last year, facing an uncertain outcome, he repeated the words: “God is good all the time.”

I hope that when I am in moments of turmoil, I say the same words.

He also still hums the melodies of old hymns that proclaim God’s faithfulness.

Another thing that has never changed is who stands beside my dad everyday, whether it’s a good day or a difficult one. My mom, Karen Schweigert, is always focused on what’s best for my dad, making his wellbeing and happiness her priority. She shows me what it is to truly live the vows “in sickness and in health, for better or for worse” with joy and compassion.

In the midst of hard days, I see the ways that love still carries on.

She has been such a faithful caregiver. But as is so often the case, those years of caretaking took a toll. As a family, we had to consider not only what was best for my dad, but also for my mom.

Earlier this year, we came to the difficult realization that my dad could no longer remain at home, and he was admitted to the Powell Valley Care Center. While it’s not the outcome we hoped for, we know he is where he needs to be. It’s also best for my mom, as everyday tasks and burdens are shared by other compassionate caregivers.

For those who are facing similar circumstances, I want to encourage you that there is hope. Admitting that you need help to share the load of caregiving is not a failure — it’s the best way to care for your loved one and yourself.

There’s a reason that flight attendants always say to put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others. You need to be able to breathe before you can help someone else.

In those moments of taking deep breaths, you can find blessings to be thankful for.

My dad may not tell stories like he once did, nor recognize as many people in his beloved town of Powell. But there are things dementia can’t take away — he will always be my dad, and I will always be thankful and proud to introduce myself as Doug Schweigert’s daughter.

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