Sometimes I ask people what makes them sad, angry or frustrated. When their answers include interactions with other human beings, I advice them no to take anything personally. Tonight, I experienced those three feelings at once, and I had to make a considerable effort not to take it personally myself, hee, hee… I confess it was 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 loss. The changes have been particularly noticeable over the past four years. 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. When I was in high school, my dad used to be one of my favourite people. I remember telling my friend Ainhoa about this, about how much I appreciated the amazing relationship with him. It made her happy, though she found it a bit odd for people our age to get along with a parent so well. This very dear friend of mine, by the way, sadly died some years ago. Ainhoa’s death imprinted in me a big responsibility and commitment: To enjoy life to the fullest, until the end, until 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. I try to bury the computer in guilt, walking past it and making empty plans in my mind to schedule time for writing; but… well… here I am now… Writing! I feel just like the patient who finally shows up to the therapy session that 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 a 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, nor to deal with our differences. I can say, however, that he did listen 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 my dad now. He forgets, repeats himself, makes up stories that… have never happened. He gets grumpy out of the blue, he’s impatient, at times inconsiderate, yes… he gets difficult, very difficult indeed. 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 and influencing his behaviour. He is different to the one person I was used to call ‘Dad’. Yet, it is still him. So I try to do what he used to do with me in the past: I listen to him, support him, and love him no matter what. Like my friend Ramon once told me in regard to his own parents: “I might not always take care of them with joy, but I do so 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. It was for him to keep in his wallet, in case he went past the condominium’s security guards and wandered off trying to find my mom. This has now happened a few times. If my mom is taking a nap upstairs (my dad is usually down stairs during the day), he believes she has left the house; so, all worried, he adventures himself to go find her outside… somewhere. So far we’ve caught up with him before he walks one block away from his house. It is scary to leave him on his own because he is clueless and has no idea how to get back home anymore.
I was kind of excited about this little card detail, even though it means a radical change for someone who used to be able to get to any place he wanted to without needing any maps or directions at all. A tracker or bracelet are better options for these situations with elderly people, I know. However, I thought of the business size card for his wallet, because my dad has lately been asking for “a little piece of paper” for him to write down his home address. He usually does this while we are out having ice cream (his favourite dessert). I can tell he is sometimes aware of his memory loss; so he probably tries to have important information handy, though he throws the “little piece of paper” away later on.
I got to his house, with the plasticized card, 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? At someone? Could he not talk? He would only move his lips. He then began replying to my questions and communicating with me, but only through my mom. Strange. It was not possible to get my message across to him that night, nor to give him the card, of course. I had not witnessed him behaving that way before. It was late. I decided to leave, planning on paying him a longer 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 my presence before, or as if he had not recognized me enough, even though he had oddly interacted with me. 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 towards my house, that she and my mom had been watching a TV show at my parents’ house, prior 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?
It is now the same roller coaster over and over. The same old behavioural 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, until 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.
