Just as I was starting to mow the lawn on Saturday my sister called. The nursing home had just called her saying dad was very confused and it “might help if someone would visit him”. No guilt with that last line. She was concerned about him but also felt bad for not going to see him that day. Since they were in the middle of a lake out of town, she asked if I would go?

When I got to the home, dad was in his room. He was glad to see me and said he didn’t understand what was going on or what he was supposed to do. He motioned to a photo of mom on his nightstand and said “I’m confused. I don’t know where that came from and I don’t know why I keep looking for her. I keep expecting to see her and I look all over for her but she doesn’t exist anymore.”

What could I say to that? So much emotion rises to the surface when you see your dad aching for the love of his life. I not only ache for dad but I can’t help but think of people I’ve loved and lost too. Relationships that once were and some I still hold out hope for.

“You were married for 64 years dad. I think it’s pretty natural when you’ve been with someone for so long to keep expecting they’ll always be there.”

He rubbed his forehead and added, “I’ve been having the weirdest dreams too. I was at a new hospital in town. It was brick and everyone was so nice to me. They took me all around the place and gave me a tour. I woke up and thought why in the world would I dream that.”

“Do you remember your aunt Alice? I saw her the other day.” he added.

Alice was his aunt who gave him a lot of support when he growing up after his mom died and his dad had trouble finding work in the depression. She was a school teacher who actually taught both Senators Arlen Spector and Bob Dole. She was almost 100 when she died.

“You really have had a lot of vivid dreams”  I said.

“Oh no, it wasn’t a dream. I actually saw her. She was right here.” he said waving his hand around his room.

I tried to explain that she had died about 10 years ago but he was insistent. “No, you’re thinking of someone else. I SAW HER. She was here!”

There comes a point in the progression of Alzheimer’s when it’s futile to try and convince them that they’re in error. At first you think with enough repetition you can convince them they were dreaming or had forgotten what happened. Eventually you learn no amount of reasoning can penetrate the fog of Alzheimer’s so you play along. After all he’s been through he deserves to be humored.

My grandmother came to mind as she started seeing dead relatives before she died. It was almost like they were welcoming her home. For all I knew Alice’s ghost did appear to him.

“What did she say?” I asked, half expecting to hear a message from beyond.

“Oh she was really glad to see me and said she’s teaching at a school in town. She has a nice little house down the road and I told her I want to move in with her and take care of her.”

He went on the tell me that the Certainteed Gypsum mine (where he had his first job after WWII) had called him and wanted him to come back to work for them. Then there was the Army, they called too wanting him to re-up. Dad had a very busy schedule earlier in the day.

Interesting that the two most important women in his life and the two memorable and dangerous jobs he had, all converged on him at the same time.

I was doing okay up until he suddenly put his hands up in front of him, gesturing as though he was pushing someone away. Dad looked at me and said “I don’t understand why he pushes me away.” When I asked him who was doing that he said, “My son.”

“Which son dad? You have three. There’s Jim, Steve and me. Which one is pushing you away?”

With a mix of confusion & irritation for not being able to remember his son’s name, and a pained look he snapped “It’s the one who won’t come see me or talk to me.” He threw his hands up and shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “I guess that’s his problem but I don’t understand it. When you get to be old all you have is family and your memories . . . ”

I knew he was talking about my oldest brother who’s been completely unable to come to terms with both mom and dad ever since they started having memory problems. It’s always been a dinosaur-sized bone of contention with me. My brother bends over backwards making excuses and rationalizing why he can’t or won’t visit. The one that makes me want to smack him is “He won’t remember me anyway.” as though that’s the only reason to visit your dad.

Smack number two would be the way my brother calls me or my sister to get the latest news on dad and then turns around and calls distant family members and gives them the latest news on dad - as though he was the one who visited him every day. I’d be angry if it wasn’t so very pathetic.

Now dad has shown that he does indeed remember and is aware more than we realize. I’ve always felt that although he doesn’t remember our names, he still knows we’re family or somehow related to him.

There’s been a few times I’ve been to visit him where I’ll walk out of the room to talk to an aid or use the restroom and when I go back to see him a few minutes later, he’ll look surprised to see me and say, “Hi! What are you doing?” At first this was disconcerting, like you’re in a version of Groundhog Day but you never knew when the ‘day’ would start over again. Still, a part of him knows when family has come to visit.

When you’re walking a black dog and you have anxiety too, it often affects your memory, especially if you’re on medication. Now try and put yourself into the stress of caring for your parent with Alzheimer’s. That’s one of life’s lemons that’s hard to make into lemonade. Imagine how your anxiety jumps to full blown panic when you find yourself blanking out on someone’s name or forgetting something else. Memory and mortality are staring you in the face. What are you going to do?

Throw in a family member who refuses to step up to the plate and do what’s right and you have a part of your life that you’d just as soon not have to deal with. Unfortunately your options are limited. You deal with it or try and bury it. I can guarantee you that if you bury it, the black dog will dig it up and your anxiety will grow.

My solution now is exercising a lot to alleviate the stress/anxiety, a healthy diet, good sleep habits, Tai Chi/Qigong, making art, practicing mindfulness/meditation, talking with trusted friends and staying as busy and involved as I can. In other words as best as I can, I deal with my life head-on using everything and then some of the TLC program.

I’ve done enough of trying to bury it and it just doesn’t work, period. PERIOD. A few years back all I was doing was running. It helped, but I also felt too much like I was running away from something. That something (a rather large black dog no doubt) always seemed to be gaining on me.

TLC, mindfulness and my other practices really go a long way in giving me control over the situation. I don’t feel so helpless anymore. It’s not always easy, in fact sometimes it’s hard - but that is life and it’s better than feeling like Wile E. Coyote being run over by the Road Runner all the time.

In the end I did confront my brother and told him what dad said. He immediately got defensive but rather than argue with him or get angry, I simply said, “I’m just telling you what he said. He is more aware of what’s going on than you think. You need to visit dad.” He later called our sister to say he’d like to go with her the next time she visits dad.

It’s a strange thing how, now that my kids are grown, I’ve once again become a parent but this time it’s to my own father. By nurturing dad now, in some way I don’t fully understand - I find I’m nurturing that little boy inside me, the one that was afraid of a stern Army officer that was my dad growing up. Dad has softened considerably over the years and is very loving and appreciative now. I’m proud to call him my dad. Life is indeed a long strange trip.

Going back to visit on Sunday I was pleased to hear from the staff that dad was much better after my previous visit. He’d calmed down considerably and was in a pretty good mood. Going out on the patio dad looked up at the huge shade trees and the clouds floating lazily in the summer sky. It was in the mid 80s with a soft breeze. “It’s a good day to be alive.” he said. I couldn’t agree more.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008 at 5:13 am and is filed under Alzheimer's, anxiety, family, fear.