My intent was to go back and attempt a cohesive story from the beginning of my dance with Damn Dementia, however there are things that happen that I simply must get written. Real, raw emotion begs to find a place to be released. Here seems to be a place of safety for me. A place to express my frustration, share my moments of exasperation and perhaps keep a few strands of sanity.
In February I took my Dad to Oklahoma for a doctor appointment, he stayed a couple of weeks them I went back to pick him up. Another trip at the end of March for another appointment and Mom's class reunion, while I was there we buried my best friend from high school. I got to attend her funeral by myself which was a blessing but seeing my Mom so distraught she was emotionally unable to attend was hard, Dad on the other hand couldn't seem to remember who died-explaining time after time who died was excruciating. The next weekend was another trip to visit Dads sister in the hospital. This weekend was Dad's class reunion-another trip. Somehow I haven't had a chance to grieve. Trying to help Dad cope with yet another doctor giving a blow to his psyche has sucked.
Imagine if you will being with your dad on 5 doctor visits where he's told not to drive and not to do taxes. Him shaking his head because "I've got enough sense..." as the doctors explain again and again that the type if dementia he stuffs from doesn't allow him to recognize his deficits. Each time the frustration, the defeat, the disbelief as his head hangs in shock. My heart breaks each and every time! I have shed more tears over his dementia than over mom's because she understands her limitations.
Dad has been angry with me, accusing me of being the reason he can't drive. He often raises his voice at me. His disease causes things to come from his mouth in his voice that my dad would never say to me. I can't count the number of times I've literally collapsed in tears while hiding in the bathroom or my bedroom.
I wanted to make this weekend special for my parents. They had a great grandson born almost two months ago, I've been working to coordinate a time to get them over to meet him. Mom has been working hard creating some special things for him. I headed over Friday morning to get them in the car to leave. We'd no sooner pulled out of the driveway when Dad began grumbling. The entire trip he griped and complained about not being allowed to drive. He even told me that it was "no fun to be a passenger." It was funny to glance in my rear view mirror and see his eyes open, if I tried to speak to him he'd squeeze them closed as if he were asleep. When he did respond to us it was usually a "hrumph!"
On the drive home-three days later-we stopped for lunch. We got back in the car and he was just as grumpy; I just couldn't stand it any more. I gave Dad my cheesiest smile then began to sing, "if you're happy and you know it say.....hrumph!" And he did! He just couldn't stop himself. Mom and I burst into laughter and we finally caught a smile on his face. I told him that for the rest of the drive any time I heard him "hrumph" I would consider it as him telling me he's happy!
He began reminiscing, telling about the group of friends that had started an investment club about 30 years ago. Dad was sharing names of people, telling me about meetings they would go to together and how valuable he was as the treasurer. I really enjoyed listening to him share stories about this time in his life for almost twenty minutes. He finished and the car grew quiet. The little girl in me caught up in the excitement of his lively stories and I eagerly asked, "Dad tell me a story about me, a memory from when I was a kid."
He looked at me, his eyes twinkled a bit as he smiled and said, "Well, I guess I've known you your entire life...haven't I?" I nodded and tears flooded my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. What on earth made me think that he's actually come up with a memory to share with me?
For way too long, this has been my normal. Dad mad at me. Excited to see everyone except me. Reminiscing and sharing about other people in his life but nothing for me. I arrived home emotionally worn, I loathe damn dementia, I've talked to God, yelled at God and really tried to listen in hopes of finding why. I believe as long as a person is living that God has a plan for their life-something they are meant to do or something we are meant to learn from them. What then is the plan for my parents slowly slipping away, losing bits and pieces of them at a time. I feel like I grieve for the little pieces I've lost but their bodies are still here. Where's my answer God? What am I supposed to learn? I'm tired.
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