"Life with Dad" is about revelation.
Alzheimer's, or any type of dementia, is a devastating disease, both for the person having it and those who love or take care of him or her.
Since discovering the condition of Dad, my siblings and I have spoken to so many people, and heard second-hand about so many, that have suffered the effects of Alzheimer's. We have tried to understand the disease and how it progresses. Is what we are experiencing with my father normal? What should we expect to happen next, and into the future? How should we react to things he says or does? How do we help him retain his dignity and some semblence of independence while his ability to function normally slips away? ... So many questions.
I decided to start journaling the things my Dad and our family are going through as a result of his Alzheimer's, partly for others to read, but more to maintain my own sanity. So, here goes....bear with me this first posting, as I have to catch up to the present.
First, a little background. Dad was born in the mid-1920's, and grew up during The Great Depression. The poverty of that era, as well as the fact that he was born and raised in Alabama, had a profound effect on him and who he became. His parents were both educators, and were devoutly Southern Baptists. He was the second oldest of four boys.
During his boyhood, my father witnessed many of his friends and relatives become sick with disease, some of whom died from them. He decided early on that he wanted to be a doctor, a goal he achieved after serving as a pilot in the air force during WWII. He met the love of his life, my mother, during his training while living in the men's dormitory at the college my mother attended. My mom was from Chicago, a very beautiful and educated woman who became an accomplished journalist and college professor while Dad was in medical school. Eventually, they made their way to Central Florida, where I was born and still live.
Dad was a passionate man. Passionate about his family, his profession, and his beliefs. His lifelong hobby was growing and propagating orchids and bromeliads. He loved the outdoors and took great pleasure in watching the birds that came to feed and live by the lake in our back yard. Dad was also very interested in the stock market, and traded actively, especially after retirement. He researched and tracked companies, and had index card boxes full of notes.
Unfortunately, the 1960's took a great toll on my father. He just couldn't handle the "hippie" culture, the anti-war movement and, especially, the Civil Rights efforts that were changing the face of America. At some point, Dad started to drink, and eventually the addiction took over his life and, really, the lives of all of us at home. He finally was able to battle his addiction successfully and has not had a drink (that I know if) in 20 years. On a positive note, many of my parents' best memories and treasured times were after Dad was sober. They were able to travel (my mom's passion) and lived in Alaska several times while Dad worked there taking the place of Doctors whom were on leave. Dad and Mom researched and wrote about our German ancestry, studied German, and visited relatives in that country. I mention Dad's alcoholism not to diminish his integrity, but because many times Alzheimer's can be caused by consuming too much booze.
Dad was, and is, a good man. He always took care of us and provided for us. As I was going through the million pictures that were in the house, so many of them were of the things he did with us. There were pictures of camping, a trip to the West (yes, we drove!), gem mining in North Carolina, a trip the whole family took to Germany, bee-keeping with my younger brother, and many other good memories. Though Dad was a little radical when we were growing up, he mellowed into a sweet, gentle person after all the kids were out of the house (hmmmmm). I would like to remember him the way he was in the years before dementia. His vast knowledge, passions, and interests are still in him somewhere, but the dementia has hidden them deep within.
The reality of Dad's situation hit all of us, especially, during the past year. My parents lived together, by themselves in the home they have owned since 1971. Mom suffered through breast cancer and then a stroke, from which she never fully recovered. She was as sharp as a tack mentally, but often had difficulty walking and was in pain much of the time. Mom pretty much ruled the roost in the later years of their lives. She was very private and stoic (a Lutheran through-and-through), and rarely talked about her troubles. As the child who lived closest to them, I probably saw more than my siblings did, but I was still not as aware of the progression of Dad's dementia as I should have been.
Mom was the "social chairman" as he called her, so whenever we called or had get-togethers, Mom was the one we talked to. Dad was never much of a conversationalist, but his interaction with others , even family members, waned. At some point, Dad stopped working in the yard and lost interest in growing plants. He no longer read books (he was once an avid reader). For years, Dad had kept a book by the sliding glass doors looking out on the lake, and recorded the birds and wildlife he saw. Some time during the past year, he even stopped doing that.
Dad became a sucker for scams. Someone called him and convinced him that he needed a 10-year warranty on his 10-year old car. Mom had to call them back and cancel it. He sent I-don't-know-how-many checks in response to letters that promised him he won millions of dollars, and would get the money if he sent a check. Some of these letters also had small print on the back that "authorized" the scumbags to withdraw money from his bank account or credit card monthly...we're still trying to put a stop to that. We had Dad's mail forwarded to me, and he gets, no exaggeration, at least 10 letters like this a week. It's disgusting how many scams target the elderly.
Dad started forgetting where he was when he was driving. Mom wouldn't let him drive alone...his motor skills were, and are, still excellent, but the memory is gone. Dad started to forget to pay the bills. The power, phone, etc. were turned off, and my mom had to arrange for them to be turned on again. Their insurance was cancelled, then reinstated by my mother. She was having a really hard time. She asked me to help her organize, which I did. I offered to take over their bill-paying, but she declined. It was just too much for her to handle. Naturally, my Dad, ever proud and stubborn, refused to admit there was a problem.
Anyway, we all witnessed Dad's growing forgetfulness, but my parents were unwilling to make changes to help them cope. I kept after my mom and dad to move into a retirement community. Neither of them could take care of the large house and yard, and it would have been much easier on them. They didn't eat well, and were losing weight. Apparently, my mom was all for moving, but couldn't convince my father. I was aware that Dad wasn't doing well, but my siblings and I didn't know how extreme my father's dementia was until our beloved mother passed away three months ago. She suffered a massive stroke in her sleep and died the next day. Dad was, and is, devastated. We all are. It's hard loosing Mom, but just as hard to slowly loose Dad.
During the days immediately following Mom's passing, it was obvious that Dad couldn't live by himself. He was disoriented and couldn't take care of himself. I know some of it was due to the shock of losing his precious wife, but it was clear that Mom had been covering for him. He had lost his inhibitions, and was constantly talking about sex (still does). He had incontinence and wouldn't admit it (still doesn't). We arranged for a 24-hour caregiver to live with him, which worked out beautifully. He was well cared-for and we weren't worried about his safety. However, we soon realized that we might want to make a change because Dad wanted to live closer to one of us, and the caregiver was very expensive. After much looking, we, and he, chose a very nice assisted living facility about 10 minutes from my home.
