So the journey began—phone calls to various senior organizations, trips to the evaluation center, and even more trips to his physician. “Prepare” is what I was told. ”It’s only going to get worse. Nighttime confusion will eventually set in,” said the experts. What I thought was merely an extreme case of paranoia and self-pity, ended up being much more. A sickness that was literally robbing me of my father, my “Daddy,” had suddenly shattered my world. I was losing him, and could do nothing to get him back. Okay, I thought. God, what do I do now? How do I deal with this devastation?
Prepare.
How does one “prepare” for such an abrupt physical and emotional upheaval, for having to do things that can only serve to humiliate a grown man—like taking away his house keys so that he can no longer leave and wander off alone? Or taking him to the Secretary of State to have his driving privileges suspended in order to protect him and an unsuspecting public? My mother retired from her job after having worked for thirty plus years as a domestic cook. Now it was time to stay at home and take care of her husband. Her own health failing, she now had the undaunted task of acting as caregiver to a husband whose memory of her was fading daily; plunged into a world she couldn’t possibly comprehend. As a result, I struggled with my own feelings of helplessness—not knowing what to do—or how to restore him to the father of my past.
Everyday I wished that Daddy could remember himself as I remembered him. Maybe at times he could, I don’t really know. When I was growing up my father and I were very close. I was the epitome of Daddy’s little girl, an only child, who hung on his every word. If he became angry with me, I was distraught. If I were sick, Daddy wouldn’t just ask my mom how I was feeling while making a beeline for his easy chair—no, not my Daddy. Instead, he would come into my room, sit with me, and we would talk about what ailed me. I loved being around him.
Mathers Pastor, or Steve as everyone called him, was a man who made the best of what he had. His family was very important to him. My father used to take my mom and me on picnics at the drop of a hat. He would just get up, pack us in the car, and off to the park we’d go. Sometimes with friends and/or co-workers, other times with just the three of us. We ate out every Sunday, went to visit friends, and to parties. We went to movies and any other kind of recreation you could think of. After first living with my grandmother for a number of years, he and my mom decided to purchase a home. So we used to take rides through other neighborhoods, looking for the type of home he wanted to buy. I enjoyed these quickie trips immensely. My father was in love with his family, which is why it came as a shock to learn that there was a time he’d almost lost us for good.
(Part 1)│ Part 2
