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.

July 19, 2010

Cone Flower (echinacia purpurea) taken in my garden yesterday

Yesterday was a tough visit with my Dad. Sandra, Amber, Nathaniel and I went to see him in the mid afternoon. We found him in his room. We tried to take him outside to sit near the pond and watch the ducks. The weather was very beautiful, 80°F's with bright blue Maine skies. He could not understand what we were talking about. As we settled down instead in the TV area I asked how he was, was anything new happening, he didn't respond. He has been hard of hearing for years but I realized today he wasn't hearing anything. Finally, when I yelled he acknowledged me.

Alzheimer's Disease is truly tragic. When I first started this blog my intention was to share my experience with others. I am finding it to be a very sad subject to write about. When I think back about my Dad's life I don't see it like this at all, yet this is his life now. A large part of him that I knew so well is now gone. It will never return. The neuron tangle in his brain will never untangle. The shrinkage of his brain will only shrink more.

Eventually he agreed to go outside and we did sit near the pond. My Dad could not stand up by himself. He required our help and when he got on his feet he was unstable. It was doubtful he could remain standing. But he did ambulate himself, precariously.

And we did manage to get him outside, through the doors and onto seats near the pond. The ducks accosted us and then returned to their somber summertime existence. There isn't much conversation to be had with an Alzheimer's patient so far advanced so Sandra and I chatted with each other and my Dad occasionally contributing, "what, hah?"

I will be changing the title of this blog as soon as I can think of something. "Alzheimer's Disease and observations of a Son" is getting old.

March 15, 2010

Today is Monday. It has been raining all day and all day yesterday. We have considerable flooding here in the Northeast. I am tired of the rain and anxious to see the sun.

I drove Nathaniel back to Clark University in Worcester, MA this morning. It rained the 2 hour ride down and back. I hydroplaned in a few places.

Last night Nathaniel and I went to visit my Dad at Sentry Hill. Nathaniel didn't really want to go visit him. I didn't insist, though I did tell him that last week I told his grandfather that I would bring Nathaniel by when he came home for spring break. Like myself, Nathaniel felt guilty and we ventured out into the dark windy rainy night to see my Dad.

There is a brook that intersects our driveway and on the way out noticed the water was at the very top of the culverts. This could mean our culverts (2) are on the verge of being washed away. I called Sandra and we parked the other two cars on the opposite side of the brook from the house in case the worst happened.

My father was snoozing very lightly when Nathaniel and I walked in. He was sitting close to a large propane fireplace. It was very warm and comfortable. He recognized us and was happy to see Nathaniel. We took a long walk through the building and up some stairs. We chatted about nothing that seemed important but all enjoyed being together. He had misplaced his senior Olympic medals and we took a look in his room for them. Whereupon we found his new room mate in the room with only the bathroom light on. His name is Francis Raynes. He is from Kittery, he told us Cutts Island.

Francis seemed like a very nice person. He was friendly and had some dementia though not as advanced as my father.

My father also was very pleasant to be with. I am pleased (and proud) that he is so good natured. It is easy to provoke a smile from him. I am very pleased that Nathaniel did go with me. For many years I have had dreams that I didn't visit my grandmother, who lived next door, enough. I would wake up from the dreams which were so realistic and all though she had passed away years ago, I was hopeful that she might still be alive and I could visit her. Or sometimes in the dreams she was alive and I hadn't seen her in 10-20 years. And when I finally do see her she is much older than my recollections but happy to see me, forgiving. Yet I would still be laden with guilt.

I wondered last night if those dreams were to insure I don't let the lack of visiting become an issue with my kids. It is very strange but often I think of my Dad and am content knowing that I love him and he is safe. My need to spend time with him has diminished from over a year ago when he first went into Sentry Hill.

We hung out with my father for an hour and a half and said our goodbyes. As we did an older lady approached us with a walker and asked if she could leave with us. And then she asked us if she were dreaming. I told her I wasn't dreaming so I suspected she wasn't either. Nathaniel and I walked back out into the rainy dark. The stubborn dark night had not given an inch since we had gone inside. Windy, wet, wet. I am not a proponant of so much rain and even less of snow. So I had that to be grateful for, I suppose.

December 7, 2009

As I was falling asleep last night I prayed for my friend Mike, who recently attempted suicide, again. I prayed for my Dad as well. And as I prayed I recalled how when I got hurt my Dad would say, "I am sorry, Kev."

Maybe I had fallen off my bicycle, or jammed my fingers in the door, or had a splinter lodged in my sole so deep he couldn't pull it out with tweezers. It was always so heart felt and although it wouldn't take the pain away I knew it meant he was there for me. And as I prayed for him last night I knew I couldn't take his pain and suffering away. Rather I prayed that my Dad would know that I am sorry.

September 12, 2009

I woke up early this morning (for me), around 5am. Couldn't get back to sleep so I went downstairs on the couch and watched part of a movie on showtime. It was called the The Creator. It was about a mad professor at a research university using cells from his beloved and dis ceased wife to create a clone. He was also extracting eggs from a nympho maniac he had friended for stem cells. He was a much older man and she was 18. They became lovers. At the same time he recruited an assistant who was a student and they began a strong friendship that was uncharacteristic. I don't recommend the movie but it did get me out the door with my camera and down into the woods.

I took lots of pics. I was in an area where my father and I spent lots of time hunting when I was growing up. I also spent lots of time down here with my Aunt Evelyn who owned the property before my Dad and then myself. My kids grew up in these woods and as I walked along there were still artifacts testifying to their long ago prescene. All of these thoughts co-mingled in my brain. It felt euphoric, daunting and lonely.

The late summer is particullary beautiful down there. It is just behind my house. So many memories came back of my Dad and I down there, looking along the river banks for deer tracks.

I let the feelings and emotions swell up. I remembered how I love the smell of applying gun oil on the guns when we returned from hunting. I remembered the smell of chain saw exhaust synonomous with seeing my father. I longed for the multitude of memories that I cherish as I was in this place that we loved to frequent. Where we were nearly always rewarded with the site of a deer. The early morning light was so beautiful.




I sat down on the river bank and began a poem. But was interupted by a huge wave of emotion. I started crying. I sounded more like a damn fool than I could imagine. I tried to stop my pathetic whaling to no avail. I needed a good cry. I did manage to write a bit of a poem. The end was like this.

"I love you Dad"