Lenten Reflections #3
February 19, 2026
For the last few months, I have had a relentless rash on my arm. When the itching woke me up at night, I decided to spend a small fortune at a dermatology clinic. Once there, the 16-year-old-looking Dermatologist Assistant said the rash was a type of eczema and stressed that it “Wasn’t shingles.” (Thank you, Shingles vaccine. Both of you.)
The smooth-skinned assistant said, “Let’s try a prescription steroid and come back in three weeks.” “Also,” she went on, “I could definitely get rid of those sunspots on your face with a quick laser treatment. I chuckled at her honest offer and said, “No thanks.”
I tried the rash cream in the silver tubes, and it didn’t help. The rash itched and itched.
Then I noticed my jaw starting to tighten up. TMJ had struck again. I went to the dentist, and Dr. Croxton asked if anything had changed in my life—any stressors? “Let’s see,” I mumbled, with my mouth wide open, speaking only vowels from the back of my throat. I told him my parents are 87 and 90 and are doing just fine (but I said “fine” about an octave higher than my speaking voice – that kind of “fine”), our dogs are older too; in fact, Sancha, our 15-year-old dog, barks incessantly in the middle of the night—which might be a touch of dementia. I suddenly started scratching my arm and clenching my jaw. “Try not to do that to your jaw, you are reacting to stress.” He adjusted my night guard, gave me a PT referral, massage contact, and said Botox would help relax the muscles in my jaw.
There was a common thread between the rash and the jaw. Stress. (Oh…and of course laser treatment and Botox)
Horrible stress. Debilitating stress. Exhausting, itchy, clenchy stress.
Mom, Dad, and Dementia
Last night I called Mom and Dad on Alexa. I needed to check in and see how they were managing while my sister was at the doctor.
I was quickly reminded how Dementia is like a bad rash. Relentless. Unyielding.
But 3,000 times worse.
When I connected on Alexa, Mom and Dad saw me on the camera after I yelled Hi Mom!, Hi Dad! It’s your daughter, Lucretia!
I could feel the tension in the room. Mom didn’t know where she was and wanted to go home (her childhood home). She also didn’t know who Dad was and wanted her own father. Dad stayed calm in the way that only a person who loves someone so profoundly can – when the second half of “for better or worse” tries to test you but cannot withstand the intensity of their commitment. Mom asked what my name was, and I told her I was Lucretia, her daughter, over and over, like saying Hail Marys in a Rosary. I was secretly hoping there would be a grand intercession from Mary herself and fill their space with glorious grace, calm, and memory.
I began the calming rituals: Mom and I took deep breaths together, and Dad audibly joined us. I sang “You are my sunshine” on repeat and reminded her that she was safe and not alone. My sister arrived and went into fast action. More breathing, reassuring, singing. About 20 minutes later, Mom was walking down the hall with Dad and proclaimed, “I didn’t know you were here!” Whew. Mom was back.
Then she fell asleep.
What I learned
The decline of life is daunting, stressful, and itchy.
Our dogs’ legs shake as they walk, they stumble on tree roots, and they eat at 3:00 in the morning.
Our parents age. We age.
Our minds forget, our backs never forgive, our eyes strain, and our joints ache.
But right now, we are here.
Until we are not.
“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
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