January 30, 2013

It is very strange. Life. All the things I have been protected from. All the places I don't want to go.

My Dad is now having difficulty swallowing. He has fallen many times. Been to the emergency room for undiagnosed reasons. 2 visits ago was the saddest ever. I was so sad. Today I could make my Dad laugh. He had a big, beautiful grin without his teeth in. I always thought his perfect looking false teeth coaxed the ladies into calling him handsome. But I have been wrong. His smile was perfect today and the aids kept walking by saying, "Hi, handsome Haven," with no teeth, mind you!

Today he could look into my eyes and he knew me...the way I know myself. A CNA smooshed up a banana and tried to feed it to him. I held up a glass of ginger ale and directed the straw into his mouth. Sometimes he could manage and sometimes nothing happened.

He reached for the table. He mumbled something and I replied. No words were exchanged. The aids and CNA floated around the 10 or so residents like angels. Providing comfort and care, a few kind words, compliments. My Dad in a wheelchair still reaching for the table as though he could use it to pull himself up. He said. "look." I offered him more ginger ale and he readily said, "really." This time he gulped it. I smiled, he smiled. Somehow amongst the sadness I realized I was happy at this moment.

The residents blended in with their elderly children. Some, I knew not if they were residents or relatives. They looked mostly the same and some were very beautiful people...sitting, elegant, refined, their nurons tangled beneath their skulls. Everyone who was sitting at one table looked the same. My Dad doesn't walk now. He sits, mostly in front of a table in a wheelchair.

Yesterday he did not eat and slept all day Jenn told me. I don't want my life to end like my Dad's is. This experience is surreal. I don't know how to make it logical. I am just sad. Even though my Dad was smiling when I left him today I am sad about it. Someplace deep inside me I am crying, heartbroken though there are no tears rolling down my cheeks. You cannot see them but they are rolling down my heart.

I fed my Dad for the first time today. Jenn, a CNA, brought some blueberry and chocolate ice cream into his room. She handed the bowl to me and said, "I thought you may be able to get him to eat this." I  have never spoon fed an adult until today. He was receptive and ate almost have the bowl. He then wanted to get up. I went looking for Jenn to tell her while at the same time I was wondering why he would want to get up. Where did he think he would go?

As I got ready to go I put my hand on his shoulder and he jumped. I told him I loved him and was leaving. I kissed him on the top of his white crop of hair and walked off. He mumbled something and I turned back approaching him from the other side. I returned the mumbled and he quickly turned his head looking my strait in the face. We both grinned at the same time. For an instance things were perfect. I grasped it tight and will hold on to that grin, smiling.

New Years Day 2013

Reflecting back this has been a very strange year. The dynamics of my family have evolved into a spiral that is out of control, twisting and turning in all directions at once. Through it all my Dad is coupled with his dementia. He sits and sits and sits among others whose conditions are so much the same that it seems completely normal to be among them. Persons sitting in chairs, staring off into the distance. Their heads moving slowly through time. Occasionally making eye contact, occasionally I avoid making eye contact in an attempt to thwart any advancement toward me.

If they look too long they may see me as a familiar face, someone they can appeal to for help, someone who can help them escape through the locked doors. I cannot be that person for them. I do have the passcode memorized, but not for them. It is for me. So I can type in 1996 and go, like a bird, free, into the wild. As I go, emotions flow over me like the ebb tide, gently I feel reluctant to leave, nostalgia and a sense of sadness all envelop me like a hug from an old friend. I shake my head as I pass the last door into the fresh air as if I am shaking off rain from a cold shower.

I get into the car and I think out loud, "I love you, Dad."

My Dad is sweet and kind and easy to coach a smile from. His image pops up in my mind as I start the car and drive away. I don't think I can any longer make memories for him. And I wonder where his memories have gone... dissipated, expelled from his brain, perhaps floating in the upper stratosphere  perhaps co mingled with my glass of orange juice this morning. There is no easy answer as my thoughts turn elsewhere and I drive back to the normalcy of the other reality, where I spend most of my time, my home, my work, exploring other mysteries, trying to catch them and existing in the awe.