A Promise.

It’s been a while I know.  More things to sort out.  More compromise too.  There is nothing easy about this. I am grateful to my friends who are out there watching over me.  

Recently I had someone question why I was flying out to see my Dad so often.  To paraphrase;  “One day is just like the next for him and, really, he has no concept of time….shouldn’t you just take care of yourself and have a regular life?”  I thanked the person for their concern and told them I would visit my Dad as often as possible until he goes.  I can always recoup the money, I can always regain my life…but I can never have another Dad. When Dad takes his last breath…..I will let go.

About 3 years ago my Dad and I made one another a promise.  And I intend on keeping it, even if I have to light the world on fire. 

When my Dad was first diagnosed with Vascular Dementia there was little or no follow up from the doctor.  Sure they booked the next appointment, but no one reached out to council, educate or prepare him for what lay ahead.  To put it bluntly he was basically told “Buzz, you have Alzheimer Disease, thank you very much for coming in.  We’ll see you next time.  Have a good day.”  My parents were sent home with no outreach or resources to pull from.  My Mom was cut loose and my Dad was abandoned.   My Mom trusted that the system would provide and my Dad sat on the couch watching Turner Classic Movies.

 Just around the time my Dad was diagnosed I was moving down to Calgary to start another radio job.  The highway between Edmonton and Calgary is horrible to drive in the winter and since I was busy starting a new life I never visited my parents until early spring.  I assumed my Mom would be proactive and have my Dad in classes or courses or therapy by then.  I never for a moment thought that she might possibly be scared of what the future would bring and may not want to know the answer.  Hell, that’s a lot two drop on two people…..especially seniors.  My Mom may simply have thought that, as most people might, the sheer force of her will could circumvent the inevitable.  By the time I visited them my Mom was frazzled and frustrated.  No one had counselled her on how to live with a loved one afflicted with Alzheimer.  How his sleep patterns would be changing, how his feet would start shuffling, that he would probably not be able to complete sentences sometimes or that he would start dozing off more.  No one had reached out to tell her of the resources available or to facilitate contact with a support group.  It’s not her fault she was so discouraged….her generation, frustratingly, never asks for help.  My Dad was incredibly depressed.  He felt he was being a burden.  It was painful to see. 

In order to give my Mom a break it was agreed that every 6 weeks or so my Dad would come down on the Greyhound bus and spend 10 days with me.  I have always loved hanging out with my Dad so I looked forward to his visits.  Not long during his first visit I noticed just how hard he was on himself, calling himself stupid and saying he was useless.  I realized quickly that my Dad needed a champion, someone to believe in him.  I have all the patience in the world for my Dad so it never mattered to me that he would take a long time to get his socks on or that he would get confused trying to take his slippers off.  I would encourage him when he needed it and guide him when I saw he was getting lost.  One day we were heading out to the mall.  My Dad got his shoes on but was struggling with his coat.  He couldn’t figure out how to put his arm through one of the sleeves.  He dropped the jacket and looked at me with those beautiful eyes…so sad, so hurt, so very…..indescribable.  He looked like a man who, every moment of the day, was living with the very real fact that he was losing his memory.  Can you imagine knowing that about yourself?  How do you go about your day?  It struck me to my soul.  I didn’t know what to do with my Dad standing there looking so lost, so I took the coward’s way out.  I pretended that there was nothing wrong, helped him get his coat on and shuttled him out to the car.  We were only about a block or two away when I noticed he looked totally defeated.  I asked him what’s wrong and he replied “nothing”.  I reminded him that we had made an agreement to tell the truth at all times and that I would never judge him.  Without looking up he simply said “I should know how to put my coat on”.  That was the first time I died a little inside.  It broke my heart to see my amazing father like that.  I asked him if anyone has explained how things are going to unfold for him.  He didn’t look up. He didn’t say anything.  I decided it was time he knew the truth.  I told him that I would explain everything to him when we got back to the house and he said okay.

Being a morning radio announcer worked well with my Dad’s internal Alzheimer clock.  We were both up very early and we both went to bed early too.  In the morning my Dad would either be awake before me or would get up when I did.  I would show him where his cereal bowl was and then sit him on the couch with a blanket and the Turner Classic Movie channel.  At night I would tuck him in bed….. and go down the rabbit hole after him. 

Gibson, Dad and Boone in Calgary.

The evening of the “I should know how to put my coat on” incident I decided to tell my Dad the truth about his disease.  We had a night time routine where every night I tucked him into bed with my old Yorkie Gibson, my big puppy Boone, and Tinker the cat. We would talk and I would give him words of encouragement.  That night, the night I decided he deserved to know the truth, I told him what I knew of the disease.  I told him it wasn’t his fault.  That he didn’t do anything wrong.  I told him that he was a good man and that I loved him and that, although there is no way we could stop this thing from taking him over, we were going to fight it off for as long as we could.  I explained how important he was to me and how much he mattered and that I needed him and that I needed him to fight. I explained how he needed to exercise and stay busy.  Join a group....get a physiotherapist or a personal trainer to work with him to keep his juices flowing.  No more sitting on the couch.  No more Turner Classic Movies. I also told him that the disease would eventually take him over…that I hated that this was happening to him and that I would never abandon him. I told him I would never let go of his hand.  I told him there would come a time when it will get dark and he will lose sight of the shore.  I told him always keep his eyes on me because I would be his light in the dark.  That he was to always keep his eyes on me. He promised me he would wake up every day and go into battle and fight this God awful disease.  I promised him I would never let go of his hand.  Little did we know that Alzheimer had different plans.  Little did we know that time was rapidly running out.  My Dad kept his promise and started going to a seniors program created for people with Alzheimer.  It took a while for him to get into the program because there are not enough of them.  In order for my Dad to get into a program someone else’s Mom or Dad had to die in order to make room.  This time last year my Dad was getting on the handi-bus and going to his senior’s group.  Today he is in a bed, dying.  Vascular Dementia has ripped away huge chunks of him and there is very little left.  But what is left is beautiful.  My Dad is still keeping his promise to me and I am doing the same for him.  After I post this I will take the last swig of Starbucks coffee and head over to his care home.  I don’t know how today will unfold for him and I.  But I do know that I will be keeping my promise.