On Numbering Our Days

Both of my parents have dementia. Dad underwent his first neuropsych evaluation for cognitive changes several years ago. Mom’s diagnosis came a bit later. Although both carry the protein markers of Alzheimer’s in their brains, the signs and symptoms have shown up at different rates and in different ways for each of them.

It’s devastating to watch.

Walking with my parents through this incredibly difficult season has changed me in ways that feel permanent. I suspect that bearing witness to the struggle—frailties and weaknesses laid bare as the disease seizes control—will have both a refining and defining effect on me for years to come.

It’s in light of this that I find myself praying the words of Psalm 90:12 on repeat. Teach me to number my days, Oh Lord, that I may get a heart of wisdom. Teach me to number my days, Oh Lord, that I may get a heart of wisdom. Teach me to number my days, Oh Lord, that I may get a heart of wisdom.

Over and over again, I pray, because if there’s one thing that this journey through dementia has taught me, it’s that life is short. We do not know how many days we have remaining, nor do we know what those days will be like.

I don’t know about you, but I want to make the most of however many days the Lord has allotted to me. I want to spend what remains of my life loving people well, doing work that matters, glorifying God, and pointing others to him, because at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

Today, that looks like taking my mom to the doctor for a checkup and maybe a bite to eat afterward. I’ll refill her medication dispenser and take note of the things on her shopping list. On my way out, I’ll stop by the salon at the assisted living facility where they reside and get my dad scheduled for a trim. I’ll also check in with the nursing team who handles Dad’s medication (given four times a day) and make sure they have everything they need before I head back home to do a bit of work before the girls get home from school.

This has become the new normal for us. Appointments, errands, medicine, and meals together. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Last week, I took Dad to the dentist. He kept apologizing for wasting my time and saying that he knew I had better things to do than drive him to appointments. It’s a familiar conversation—one we have almost every time we go on an outing—but no matter how many times he brings it up, my answer is always the same:

Time with him isn’t wasted. It’s precious. I know that now in a way that I didn’t before. These days are unspeakably hard, but I’m so very grateful to have them.

Time is short, y’all, and so is life. Love your people. Do good work. Honor God. Point to him.

Until next time, grace and peace.