Alzheimer's:
The Day God Sent Me An Answer.
Having just spent this past week with my parents, I am in mourning. Not because my father has passed away physically, but because I came face to face with his vacant eyes. It was in that moment I faced reality. He is already gone.
His confusion, no memory, slow loss of physical movement, unsteady hands, insecurity of everything around him, his symptoms are progressing, and he clings to Mom. She is the only person he trusts, he depends on her every minute, panicking when she is not present. Multiple strokes, Alzheimer’s Disease, cancer and incurable blindness are taking him from us.
I watch my Mom battling her own health problems, trying to bear the stress of losing her husband. Her heart is already torn as she watches him slip away. The only man in her life for 60 years. A man she stayed with through some really rough years. The father of her 5 children. Several of who have chronic physical and/or emotional instabilities, contributing to her constant worry. Some wonder why she fought so hard to keep her brood so close to her. Part of her reality is that her own mother abandoned her, not once but 3 times.
But she is tired, no…, she is exhausted and wasting away. She has just confided in me her sense of loss and the fear of what lays ahead. All the counseling from the Alzheimer’s group doesn’t seem to help right now. She dotes on him, protecting him, like a lioness.
Yet she is human, occasionally replying impatiently at his constant repeating. Sometimes she walks too fast as he clutches her elbow and stumbles along. He is almost blind.
Two hundred times a day or more, he recites his 5 daughters’ names, where we live and whose children belong to whom. He apologizes to me for doing it so often, explaining he is so afraid of forgetting us. I have already had to deal with that blow the weekend he believed I was my cousin. Not recognizing me as his own, but thinking I was his sister’s daughter. Pain ripped through my heart as the first thread to him was cut.
He spends most of his days sleeping or apologizing for being a burden. He is ashamed of his bundling accidents, like no longer being able to pour his own milk. When we tell him we have all been out to an occasion, his first question is always “Did I act o.k?” Still there are the days he is very funny. I just wish it hadn’t taken me 56 years to understand his type of humor.
My mother tells me he spends many of his nights, and hers, crying about being too hard on us, some 50 years ago. We had spoken of it long ago, I accepted his apologies, understanding his regret, but apparently it is not forgotten for either of us. Occasionally for no apparent reason, he becomes angry and starts yelling irrationally. My brain tells me it’s his frustration and the disease but I retreat to my room, heart pounding, nausea and fear rising. Like a child I want to be invisible. Mom calms him down and within minutes, he remembers I am there, questioning why I am downstairs and not up with them. She calls me and we all start joking and reminiscing, he has forgotten. Can we?
I spend a lot of my time reminding him of the best part of our memories. Besides harvesting a half acre of vegetables for the winter, we always had a summer vacation. How he taught us the beauty of nature, like Algonquin Park or Martin River. Sometimes we could bring a friend, making us a group of 9 or 10. Camping then was rough then but we didn’t care, we were a family. We spent hundreds of hours along the Welland Canal, learning at an early age the details of the locks, ships and international flags. My Dad had been a navy man.
Today I wonder how many of those grey hairs did I cause through the years. Throughout all of my successes and failures he has supported me. He has always taught and lived by a code of forgiveness, and a way to see a good side of anyone in our lives. That was applied to those that stayed and those that moved on.
At this point you are probably wondering what does this have to do with God? The short story is that my parents came to my home on a trial. If he copes well enough, Mom will bring him again, relieving her from their home, now almost her prison. Last night while preparing for bed, he thought he had lost his wedding ring. His obvious stress and fear was heartbreaking. I led him by the hand to the bedroom where Mom had found the ring. As I pointed him in Mom’s direction he panicked again, pushing me away. Who was I and what was I doing in the bedroom? Needless to say I cried myself to sleep wondering where would I get the strength to help them through the inevitable future?
Waking early the next morning it was a beautiful, sunny day. I had a chance for my routine coffee on my balcony; I Thanked God for understanding my distance, acknowledging a recent time of doubt. I asked him to help me find the strength to be the family caregiver. To help me put the past where it belongs, in the past!
I quietly tiptoed in to get my second cup, discovering he was in the bathroom without Mom. I turned on the hall light and retreated to the kitchen. I wasn’t spying, this was a test to see if we could get him to feel at safe in my home. When he came out, he could not see me. After some initial confusion he did get back to bed. I sighed with relief.
To me, that was God’s sign. First, that he heard my plea and second, that he showed me that I will have more time with Dad, he will come visit again. My home can be Mom’s getaway and I have a renewed purpose in life. Somehow God will help me with my strength.
Now I can start worrying about her driving 3 hours on the highway back to their home.
Article by: Rose Sharon July 2010
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