This Body is Bullshit

The weeks have been feeling extra long lately. By Tuesday at work, I swear it should already be Thursday. And this week started off even heavier.

On Monday, we had a follow-up with my dad’s neurologist. After months of questions and confusion, we finally got the official diagnosis: FTD—frontotemporal dementia. The same thing Bruce Willis has.

We knew it was some form of dementia or Alzheimer’s, but hearing those three letters out loud… it hit hard. There’s no real treatment. No way to slow it down. And the worst part? He doesn’t know he has it. He can’t comprehend it. If you know my dad, you know he’s a maniac—stubborn, proud, impossible. This isn’t going to be easy on any of us.

I’ve been walking around with this weird ache in my chest. Part heartbreak, part anxiety. Not sleeping much. It’s all-consuming. I can’t even remember the other things I’m supposed to be worried about, because this one thing drowns everything else out.

And yet, life keeps moving. Friday night we hosted the birthday party for Kathy, Cory, and Amy. Everyone showed up in their muumuus, we laughed, we ate, we celebrated. But of course, even that wasn’t without a hitch—Kathy got dropped off by my dad, and on his way home, he got lost. It put a damper on the mood, but we pushed through and tried to focus on the good. Cory spent the night afterward, helped me clean up, and just being with her was a comfort.

Saturday, the ladies took off for a little day together—farmers market, boardwalk shops in Batavia, then lunch and more shopping in Geneva. Then Kathy went home, back to life with my dad. We wished Cory had stayed longer, but she headed home after one of her classic heart-to-hearts, giving us love and hope—so much hope—like she always does.

Sunday, Matt and I went to a celebration of life for his friend Geoff. It was a wonderful service. Geoff’s daughter—just 21 years old and now without both her parents—stood and spoke with such grace. She was beautiful, stoic, heartbreaking. Our friends Rusty and Ben spoke too, both of them somehow managing to make people laugh through the tears. It was touching and sad, but also strangely comforting. Watching these guys—Matt’s closest friends—grieve together, support each other, and still find humor in the hardest moments reminded me how important it is to show up, even when it hurts. And how deeply they want to be there for his daughter, to make sure she’s not alone.

It’s been a lot in just a few days—diagnoses, parties, loss, love, laughter, and grief all tangled together. That ache in my chest is still there. I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon. But I’m grateful for the people around me, the ones who carry me through when things feel heavy.

And now it’s Monday again tomorrow.