Dad's Quilt.

I am always in awe of the people who care for my Dad.  It takes a special person to do that type of job.  Some are better than others.  Some don`t care enough.  Some care too much.  We are blessed with three women who care too much.  Quintina, Shirley and Emma take care of my Dad every day and every night.  They get him up, feed him, make sure he`s clean, they turn him every few hours, they tuck him in, they change his diaper. Most of all they treat him with dignity and respect.  They sit and hold his hand when they have a few extra minutes.  They hold the phone to his ear when I call him every day at 10 am.  They watch out and care for him.  These women care deeply about each and every one of their wards.  They are angels.  They are also immensely over-worked and horribly under-paid.  The Alberta Government….the richest province in Canada….. should be ashamed of the way they are treating their senior citizens.  The generation that built that province is being abandoned in their greatest time of need.  It does not matter whether it is a private or public care facility; cut backs have left senior’s care centers running on bare bones.  Alberta, Canada….the world is woefully unprepared for the incredible tsunami called ``Dementia” that is headed our way.  In my Dad’s ward there are two nurse’s aides, during the day, for 26 residents.  That is one aide per 13 residents.  Two overnight staff are responsible for a whole floor.  80 people.  40 seniors each.  This is not how we are supposed to honor our elders.

I started many blogs while sitting by my Dad’s bed but could never seem to finish them.  Every day, every hour, every moment is different.  Unlike Alzheimer where you “fade away”, my Dad’s Vascular Dementia  rips chunks of him away from us. One moment Dad and I would be holding hands pointing out Robert Mitchum on TCM…. the next, he would be fast asleep in a toothless snore.  Next he would be wide awake…. body moving back and forth staring at an old golf photo of himself.   Some days a large chunk of time was spent simply holding his hand while he slept.  I used to sit by my Dad’s bed and make deals with God. Please let me have one more moment like the last time when he smiled with bright beautiful eyes and held his arms out for a hug. Or when he asked to see my iPhone saying “I always wanted one of these…do you like it?” Or when he was able to tell me he loved me.  I no longer live for those brilliant moments of lucidity, instead….if they happen….I am simply grateful for them. I am grateful for him and all that he has brought to my life.  I’m just happy to see him, whatever capacity he is in. 

Yesterday he was looking at a big photo of himself, the one where he is in mid-golf swing and I told him the story of how he used to golf every weekend when I was a kid and how he golfed every day after he retired.  I had a difficult time with curfews when I was in high school.  All my other friends used to be able to stay out much later than me, so I used to sneak out my bedroom window and stay out all night.  Well, not exactly all night.  I would have to be home to sneak back into my bedroom by 5 am before my Dad woke up to go golfing.  One night it didn’t quite work out as planned…just as I was rounding the garage to beeline for my bedroom window I saw my Dad was up and in the kitchen.  Busted.  My bedroom was right under the kitchen….he would totally hear me.  Having the sense of genius that only a delinquent 16 year old could have, I thought I would outsmart him by pretending I had slept in the hammock. So, like the genius I was, I crawled into the hammock and promptly passed out.  For about 10 minutes.  I woke up to water dripping onto my face…my Dad was standing over me holding a soaking wet washcloth.  Get up, he said….you’re caddying for me today.  I was still wearing the clothes I had on from the night before….smeared makeup, teeth not brushed….and still rather drunk.  I really thought I was in major trouble, but my Dad didn’t say anything.  He actually bought me some McDonald’s breakfast on the way out to the golf course.  I kept waiting for the “you’re going to grow up and rob banks if you keep doing this” lecture but it never came. He had me yard his clubs out of the trunk of the car and explained how he liked to have them…he sat me down outside the clubhouse and had me clean his cleats while he went in to meet his buddies.  He must have told his buddies that he caught me trying to sneak into the house because all I remember was that they said hi to me and that was it.  My dad explained what a caddy did and I spent the rest of the day, in the boiling sun, wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, walking 10 paces behind him, sweating out the booze.  18 holes.  All day.  When it was over I sat outside the clubhouse while my Dad and his buddies went in for a beer.  I had to clean all their clubs and their cleats.  By that time I had been awake for about 32 hours.  On the way home my Dad thanked me for caddying for him and told me I did a really great job.  He never once mentioned the fact that he caught me in a huge lie.  He did ask me if I knew why he had me caddy for him and I said yes. Nothing more was ever said.  When I got home I went straight to my bedroom and slept until the next day.  I never stopped sneaking out but I did start sneaking back in earlier.  Once or twice more my Dad woke me up with the dripping wet washcloth and informed me I was caddying that day…busted again, but he never ever made me feel like I was a terrible person for sneaking out.  I think he always understood that deep down I was a really good kid who liked to have a lot of fun…..just like him when he was my age.  Just like him period.  He understood me and he tried to foster a safe environment between us.  One where I could screw up and still know that I had his love and support.   It seemed my Dad believed in punishing the act, not the child.  Very wise.

I know that because he stood by me when I was a lost little girl I will stand by him and hold his hand.  I no longer care what I get from him…just being next to him is good enough.  I want him to know that even though he’s not at his best he is alright by me.  The threat of renal failure has subsided…on one side of his bed is a urine catheter on the other is an IV drip.  He has padded boot things attached to his feet so he won’t get bed sores from moving around.  They prop his legs up with pillows. His skin is as thin as tissue paper, but he has never been so beautiful to me. 

Dad's Quilt

When I reached out to the Alzheimer Society in Manitoba they offered a small quilt made of many different textured materials.  My dad has had that with him since he first fell down and became a ward of the Province.  He knows the blanket is from me and he never lets it go.  Only at night does the staff take it from him…and even then he fights them for it.  I can’t be with him every day but it makes me feel better knowing that he is holding onto something from me as hard as I am holding onto him.  Some people say I should let go…I say, not yet.  When my Dad lets go of that blanket for the last time I will let go of being there for him.  Until then I will keep calling him, keep visiting him and keep telling his story.