Sometimes I ask people what makes them sad, angry, frustrated. When their answers include interactions with other humans, I advice them no to take anything personally. Tonight, I experienced those three feelings at once and made an effort not to take it personally myself, hee, hee… I confess it is not precisely the easiest task! I visited my dad, who’s been gradually… I will use the word “changing”, over the past years due to memory problems. The last four have been particularly noticeable. Forget about him not recognizing me, he still does most of the time. It is me who sometimes do not recognize him at all.
This process, which I thought I was understanding, accepting, being able to deal with, has me in tears right now, as I write. He used to be one of my favourite people back in high school. I remember telling my friend Ainhoa about this, about how much I appreciated the amazing relationship with my dad. It made her happy, though she found it a bit odd for our age to get along with a parent so well. This very dear friend of mine, by the way, sadly died some years ago, leaving behind a big responsibility and commitment for me to enjoy life to the fullest, till the end, till the very end. No excuses, be happy!
Oh my goddess! I knew sitting down to write was going to be hard. I cannot think of a better way to connect to my deepest feelings and thoughts than this one. So I keep postponing it over and over. Trying to bury the computer in guilt, walking past it and making plans to schedule time for this, but… well, I am here now, writing… Just like the patient who finally shows up to the therapy session he/she’s been forever cancelling. Uff!
Anyway, my dad was someone I could always talk to about anything, anytime. He was practically never busy for me. I will not say he understood me a hundred percent (maybe not even 50%), nor that he avoided judging me. He had his own very fixed opinions about life, people, manners, social roles, etc. He still does.
I am sure it was not always easy for him to agree with my plans or deal with our differences. I can say, however, that he listened to me attentively each and every time and… it was beautiful! We’d talk for hours over the phone, over a bottle of wine, over lunch, over dinner, over several cups of coffee, past everybody’s bed time. We’d tell and make up jokes that would have us laughing quite out loud. I smile just to think of how much I cherished his good sense of humor (am… not so great nowadays, ha, ha). I just loved it all and now… it’s gone.
I can hardly hold a two minute semi coherent conversation with him. He forgets, repeats himself, makes up stories that… have never happened, gets grumpy out of the blue, he’s impatient, at times inconsiderate, yes… difficult. And I… I listen attentively, trying not to judge him, making an effort to remember that he’s got memory and heart issues that are gradually modifying his behaviour. He is different to the one person I was used to call dad. Yet, it is him. So I try to do what he did with me: Listen to him, support him and love him no matter what. Like my friend Ramon once told me about his own parents: “I might not always take care of them with joy, but I do it with love”.
Two nights ago, when I first began writing about this, I had made a plasticized card with my dad’s name and our phone numbers in it for him to keep in his wallet, just in case he goes past the condominium’s security guards and wanders off trying to find my mom. It has now happened a few times. If she’s taking a nap upstairs (my dad is usually down stairs during the day), he believes she has left the house. He worries and adventures himself to go find her outside… somewhere. So far we’ve caught up with him before the first block. It is scary to leave him on his own because he is clueless.
I was kind of excited about this little card detail, even though it means a radical change for someone who could get to any place he wanted to without needing any maps. A tracker or bracelet are better options for these situations with elderly people. I thought of the business size card for his wallet since he usually asks for a little piece of paper to write down his home address while we are out having ice cream (my dad’s favourite dessert), knowing he cannot remember it on his own. I can tell he is sometimes aware of his memory loss, so he tries to have that information handy, though he throws it away later on.
I got to his house only to find he was in a bad mood plus quite an unknown attitude. My dad seemed disturbed, even hostile. He would not directly talk to me. Was he upset at something? Someone? Could he not talk? He would only move his lips. Then began replying to my questions and communicating with me only through my mom. Strange. It was not possible to get my message across to him that night, nor give him the card of course. I had not witnessed him behaving that way before. It was late and I decided to pay him a visit the following day instead.
Before I left his house that night, my dad kind of “recovered his senses or became himself again”. He got up to hug me, surprised that I was ‘leaving so soon’. It was as if he had not noticed me before, or not recognized me enough, even though we did oddly interact. Him being upset, impolite, distant… it all vanished in a flash.
I told him I loved him while hugging him back. He said he loved me as well. We smiled at each other and said good night. I headed back home exhaling long, long, long.
I found out from my sister, while driving in the car, that her and my mom had been watching a TV show together previous to my visit. My dad has never really shared their taste, so, he got anxious and eventually mad at my mom for not paying attention to him during the… fifty two minute show? Wow! Unbelievable? Well, I did believe it. My sister and I reminded each other that it has always been that way: Him wanting full attention from my mom but… Did he not constantly demand and took time on his own as well?
Same roller coaster over and over. Same patterns intensified as he grows older day after day. Except my dad seems to forget it all. Crazy? No. Crazy would be for me not to try to enjoy even these challenging circumstances. Till the end. Life is now and I am alive!
I really do love my dad. This is hard.
Yes, people change… and they don’t.
