June 18, 2012

Yesterday was Father's Day. In the last few years my family has evolved like never before. My oldest son is living in another city, my youngest son is home for the summer. My daughter's dreams are evolving from the unreachable to reality. My father has been in an Alzheimer's unit, my mother treats me as if I don't exist and my in-laws are plagued with health issues. Recently my mother-in-law has suffered a series of strokes and has lost use of her arm and leg requiring her to move into a nursing home.

My oldest son and his girlfriend visited yesterday. It is amazing to see the person he has evolved into. I know that his life won't be without the same trials we all endure but he has an awesome start. To have him here for Father's Day was very special for me. I have never really taken notice of this day in the way I did yesterday.

My youngest son cooked me crepes for breakfast with fruit filling. He was very proud of his efforts as was I. I was flattered that he got up extra early, before a long work day and made me the focus of his attention.

After working in the garden for a bit and after lunch, I went to visit my Dad. He was very happy yesterday. He was beaming with a huge grin. It was very easy to be with him. He couldn't talk very well at first. We went for a walk around the facility at Sentry Hill. And then we sat in the sun. I asked him if he remembered when I was born, if he saw me be born. He didn't really answer and then I told him that back then he may not have been allowed in the delivery room. He perked up and agreed. I then asked him about one of my earliest memories. I asked him if he remembers holding me in a rocking chair. Immediately he said, "right next to the front door." I was flabbergasted. I asked him if he did that often. Without thinking he said, "Oh, no!"

He has carried the memory of holding me for maybe 50 years, through his dementia. And I have carried the memory of being held, helpless as a baby in his strange arms and feeling comforted. Is was comforting sitting in the warm summer sun with him yesterday. He was at ease and excited. He was happy. In spite of all my concerns the world was spinning and my dad in spite of all the other possible emotions he could be experiencing because of his unfortunate situation was happy. Wow.

June 12, 2012

I feel more sad than usual. My visit yesterday with my Dad was the most difficult it has been for a long time. And I should mention I haven't seen him in over a month. He was OK. He was happy to see Sandra and I. I don't think he recognized my daughter, Amber.

It was a picture perfect day in York Harbor, Maine. Hi 70's F° and clear skies. Right away he thought we had come to take him away. He couldn't say where he wanted to be but someplace was for sure. It broke my heart to know that I wouldn't take him away, to where he wanted to go.

My life is a balancing act with two business, children and more interests than I can possibly attend. It was really all I could manage to just visit with him for an hour or two. It is all so difficult to balance. Difficult to place everything in an order that I won't regret. And realizing that the perfect solution is just a compromise.

None the less it made me sad to see my Dad sad. I felt powerless. And since communication is challenging at best and often impossible it is hard to express my empathy to him.

Alzheimer's is a dreadful sentence at times. Sometimes I see it's unexpected symptoms as graces. Often when I leave him from a visit I feel nice, like I made him feel good. But yesterday he was sad.

I realized he is still very much a person and is still more connected to the world than one might expect. His speech is feeble. His thoughts are shattered when he attempts to express himself. But in his thoughts he wants, desires and is full of emotion. He is in one of the most beautiful settings in York Harbor, far out of reach for most. But his heart does not belong here. This is not the place that he built with his hands, the place where he collected his tools and cut his trees. This is not the place where he feuded over land boundaries, took dates, dug rocks, and piled stuff behind his house and cherished it all. But he is here. And it is comfortable and warm. There are many people who take care of him with care and pride. Who greet him in the halls with genuine warmth and sincerity.

Who are we? How did we arrive here and what is the right thing to do. I don't remember asking to be born. I don't remember asking to be responsible for the happiness of my Dad. I am not sure of all the choices we make. I feel that for my Dad to be in an assisted living facility, in a lockdown ward is convenient. It is also very costly. I don't know of other reasonable solutions. So here he is. With more of a broken heart than I realize. And here I am unable to get a smile from him.

A Little Music is Good for the Soul

The last time I saw my Dad a friend of mine, with whom I am in a band and myself, played music at Sentry Hill. It was two Sunday afternoon's ago. We set up in front of the residence with guitars, a PA and played for two hours. I have never played in front of Alzheimer's patients before but recommend it to anyone who is a musician or a wannabe.

These people were not free to come and go as they please, as in bars which I have played in the past. Nope, most cannot get out of a seat. Those in a seat, like a wheel chair have not enough strength to make haste for a getaway. So there they sat before us, my Father included. And we played for them. From our hearts.

As we played the help gathered around as well and it became quite cozy. We received delightful applause and occasional hoots and yipeeeees. It was a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

My Dad and I at Sentry Hill in York Harbor, Maine

Since, I received two calls from Sentry Hill. The first was to inform me my father had swatted his lower false teeth out of an attendent's hands and broke one of the teeth. The second was that he fell into a fireplace as he tried to pet a dog which someone brought into visit the old people. He possibly lost his balance while bending over.

I miss my Dad alot. I miss my sons as well. It has been very strange to have two sons who are prospering at college and a Father who is declining monthly. They are all beyond my reach in a tangible way. And we are all disconnected from the family cohesiveness that I once enjoyed so much.

My oldest son has created an album that is very beautiful. Take a listen, it is peaceful and soothing...http://whorl.bandcamp.com/

I have recently been visited by my mother. She came by work unexpectedly. She asked if she could speak with me. I had a premonition that she may want to reconcile our differences. But no, her agenda was only remotely relevant to me. In fact she told me I was lying about so many things that I made her leave. It is odd to feel no love from a person, let alone my mother. I cannot get around the idea that she visited me and didn't bother to inquire about how I have been or share concerns, thoughts or anything about me. When I brought something up or replied to her questions she said only, "you are making that up," or "that's a lie."

My mother is an enigma to me and her actions become increasingly unresolved when opportunity favors her. There are few people in life that I get such little feeling from. Many complete strangers offer far more compassion and love. Thank God.

January 20, 2012

We have had our first significant snowfall. Though scant, 2-4 inches of white stuff it looks and feels like winter, finally! I am not a huge fan of winter but it has become such a substantial part of my psyche I think I really need it.

Through the window and into the sun, first snow or 2012

As I sit on the couch waiting for the sanding truck to rumble up the driveway I have been thinking about how my Mom and Dad are evaporating from my life. I have been estranged from my Mom for about 4 years and my Dad is in another world. My wife's parents are also dealing with issues of dementia and things are evolving in that realm as well.

Although my parents are both alive I no longer have the kind of emotional support I had been afforded for so many years. My Mom was mostly a detriment to my creativity and my Dad really never cared to get a grasp on it. Otherwise my parent and son relationship was probably pretty normal. There were times when I didn't see my Dad for a year or more. Something always pulled us back together though, usually a chance encounter at the post office, hardware store or general store.

He instilled his love of tools and fascination for the woods in me. He also influenced my spirituality by sharing his. My mom told me we had no room for a piano and that I couldn't be a writer. Later, she did help and encourage me to get into art school which opened up a whole new dimension of creativity. My Dad would never invest the time into trying to understand my love of art. Though his love was so easy. Go out into the woods, start cutting trees and splitting them into manageable pieces and toss them into the trailer and hopefully drive out of the woods without getting stuck and arrive home smelling like chainsaw exhaust. I got this and really took a liking to it.

There were many times as I was becoming an adult I cut ties with my parents in order to liberate myself from their dogmas. At first it was tenuous as I was a newbie. Initially the pain was terrible as I had to imagine them as dead. I still loved them but realized the hindrance was stagnating. The only way for me to become an entity unto myself was to stand alone, singular. It took me a while to realize that we could co-exist but I had to learn this through experience. 

As a parent now, I appreciate my own parents for their efforts and realize how difficult it can be to try to shape our existence into some type of normalcy. I am not a proponent of normalcy, status quo or otherwise trying to be like everyone else, but it is the only way we can become socially adept. Communities are bound by co-dependence, hopefully a mutually satisfactory one.

My family has evolved to such an extent I can easily become awed. My three children are becoming adults. I am exactly between my parents and children. As with most situations I need to adjust, to understand my responsibilities and to offer whatever support I can. And of course the challenge is to encourage the human spirit to flourish and be successful at it. Each person with a different set of circumstances, with different desires and purpose.

January 15, 2012

Today was cold. Mid teens, I think. 18°F +/-. I walked into Sentry Hill and found my dad asleep on the built in seats next to the windows in the common area. His head falling downward, his body slumped and silhouetted before the large windows looking out toward the glass looking frozen pond. I pulled off my jacket and turned to sit down next to him. He instantly awoke and looked at my face. He said, "Oh, Kev!"

He then, with a smile said, "I, didn't, huh...know, huh."

I was happy to be recognized so quickly. He asked how I got there. I told him in my car and offered him a ride. He readily accepted. We checked out with nurse Judy and I lent my Dad my coat and in no time we were off, cruising Long Sands Beach. My Dad kept saying, " That is a lot of boats, Kev," as we drove along Route One A. The ocean on the right and houses and motels on the left. I said, "Dad! those are motels!"

"No, they are boats," he acknowledged as he watched the houses bathed in crisp winter lights pass by us. 

We turned right and headed toward the Nubble Lighthouse. When we got there we stopped and thought about getting out of the car. But when I opened my door and walked around the back of the car and to my Dad's door and opened it I realized it was far to cold and windy. So I reorganized my thoughts and we drove along the coast. At each intersection I asked him for directions and he always indicated a direction that was furthest away from where we had started. 

I haven't had my Dad out for a drive in at-least a year, maybe two. I constantly challenged his memory and asked all along the way if he knew where we were, if he knew who lived in that house or where this road would take us. He asked me if I had been at Albert's (my great grandfather who died in the 1940's). I said no and asked if he had. He replied, "Yes, and what a bunch of stuff that happened there."

As we drove along I thought of how he drove me in his car when I was his young son. How we would whistle Amazing Grace in unison and how that I knew then neither of us were tone deaf (in spite of what others told us). On the same roads we were driving now and then, 40 years later. Finally, we came to my driveway. I asked if he would like to drive out to my house. He said yes. So we drove along the half mile ice and snow crusted road that I had first found when I was 10 years old or so looking for a fishing hole. Back then there was no gravel and no pot holes, just a soft bed of rusty pine needles. There was barely a road at all back then. It only the easiest way to walk out here and ghostly impressions of wagon tracks form many years ago. 

We pulled up to the front door and I asked my Dad if he would like to try a gun that I had recently acquired. He shook his head in agreement and I asked him to wait in the car as the icy snow had made everything treacherous. I ran into the house and grabbed the gun and ran back out to the still running car. I opened up the box and carefully unlocked the gun. I checked for shells though I knew it wasn't loaded and then passed the gun to my Dad. 

He looked like a child at Christmas who had been handed a toy gun. His face lit up and he declared it was real! I said, "It sure is." I asked if he would like to shoot it. He said, "Ah, let me see, why not, Yes."

I took a magazine and loaded 3 rounds into it. I don't know why 3, it seemed like not too many and not too few. I opened my car door and put the gun into my back pocket. I walked around the car and opened his door and released his seat belt. He maneuvered around and pulled himself out of the passenger seat. He stood up on the slippery surface. Once he was comfortable I withdrew the gun from my back pocket. I put in the magazine and told him it was loaded and ready.

I passed him the gun and he held it like it was his own. I told him to shoot at the target that I had placed 15 feet in front of him. He didn't understand. I told him it was the big black circle on the white board. He couldn't recognize it. I asked him to pass me the gun and I would show him. I fired a round into the target and passed it back. He held it again as if he were going to shoot but could not find the target. I suggested he fire into the air. He declined. I fired the remaining rounds into the target and we got back into the warm car. I locked the gun.

As I drove back down the driveway he said he had had a dream last night. In his dream he was holding the gun we were just using and he was in a place that he couldn't quite describe. I asked him if it was at his home. He said no. What about my Aunt's? He said no. I said what about Thompson's Meadow. He said yes. To clarify I asked him, "With my gun?" He said yes. He then asked if I could believe it. I said yes I could.