Category Archives: Memories

October 7, 2012 · 6:09 pm

A ripped up family photo

Now it’s easy to delete a bad family photo. If you don’t like what you see in preview mode, just hit a button and it vanishes forever. Back when I was a kid, you had to have the film developed. Then you had to go through the pack of good, bad and mediocre images, and choose which ones went into the family album. Or, if you had a Polaroid, you crossed your fingers as the image developed before your eyes.

There is one photo I clearly remember which did not earn a place in the family album. I was about four years old. Mom was trying out her new Polaroid and wanted to take family photos. Dad decided to hit the bar beforehand. He came home with cheeks as rosy as a clown’s and his breath reeked of beer. But he was happy and ready to grin for the camera.

Mom needless to say was not so happy. She tried to dissuade Dad but he wanted his picture taken … with me. I remember sitting on his lap, and smelling beer and smoke and Dad’s aftershave underneath the bar smell. I was happy, because Dad was happy, not understanding the source of his cheeriness. She agreed to take a photo, just to diffuse the situation. The moment was forgotten until years later, when I came across the photo, buried in a shoebox filled with family photos.

“Oh, I meant to throw that out,” Mom said and snatched it out of my hand. She ripped it up, trying to destroy the memory forever.

But her attempt failed, as I remember every detail of that moment. It’s not necessarily a bad memory, it’s just the ups and downs most families experience.

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October 6, 2012 · 7:58 pm

Holidays at the hospital

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen Christmas decoration displays already in stores. Every year, it seems to happen earlier.

This year, it reminds me of Dad.

Mom and I ate several times at the Albuquerque hospital cafeteria last November. On one visit, the staff were putting up some Christmas decorations. It seemed odd and out of place as a family member of a very sick patient, but hospitals are also workplaces for many employees. Why shouldn’t they be able to enjoy a little cheer?

Upstairs, Dad was heavily sedated, and knew not where he was, or what time of year it was. He would hang on for almost another month, before passing five days before Christmas.

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October 5, 2012 · 4:23 pm

A loyal companion gone

Mom has been missing Dad a lot lately. Now that she’s back home, she misses his presence even more than before. 40 years of daily contact is not easy to replace with something or someone new.

Over the past year, when Dad was in the nursing home, she learned to craft a new life for herself. It wasn’t easy or ideal, but she had her health then. Now that her health is in jeopardy, I think she is relying more on the good memories, before Dad’s dementia, when they had their boring yet comforting life together.

Of course, Mom had to live with a different version of Dad, the one with Alzheimer’s, for a few years. Even though that was very difficult, she had someone to take care of and protect, which made her feel needed.

Even though Mom and Dad were opposites in many ways, it is clear to me now how they fit together like puzzle pieces. Now that Dad is gone, Mom is finding it difficult to feel complete and whole again.

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October 4, 2012 · 8:03 pm

“No more hugs!”

Mom is getting a bit weary of being under the wing of a caregiver (me) and the home health care agency. She’s at that point where she’s feeling well enough to want her old life back, but she also knows that she has new limitations on her that prevent her from fully embracing her previous life.

Dad’s dementia created many limitations, both mentally and physically. But despite how he regressed partially into childhood, he still tried to maintain a sliver of independence. When Mom would go visit him at the nursing home, and she would try to hug him repeatedly when she was departing, Dad would pull away and loudly command, “No more hugs!”

At first it bothered Mom but then she interpreted it as Dad trying to hold on to a piece of himself. She relates the memory fondly now. Of course, little did she know that a year later she would be the one fighting to hold on to her independence.

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October 3, 2012 · 8:00 pm

Bombs over Belfast

When you are going through a trying time, it sometimes helps to put things in perspective. For example, Dad’s childhood was marked by a period where his family and friends had to rush to the bomb shelter in the middle of the night to protect themselves from the Nazi’s aerial attacks. This happened on a regular basis. The shelter was dark, damp and crowded. Babies cried, fathers cursed, and mothers prayed. Several hundred people died, and many families lost their homes and businesses.

One of the attacks occurred just five days after my dad’s 9th birthday. That’s a lot for a child to handle.

My typical childhood in the safety of an American suburb was far removed from these brutal brushes with death and destruction. It’s difficult to say how this violent childhood experience impacted Dad. Did it lead to his suspicious, paranoid nature? Perhaps. Has that led to my cautious nature? Perhaps.

Dad saw horrors as a young boy that I can’t even begin to imagine. Regardless of present strife, I’m lucky to have been spared such a traumatic childhood, full of uncertainty and chaos.

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October 2, 2012 · 8:50 pm

Dad lost in a festive moment

I can’t believe I had not come across this before, but I stumbled upon a YouTube video from the day Mom and Dad picked up Mom’s lottery jackpot check in Albuquerque. This was in 2010, when Dad still lived at home, but was sinking deeper into dementia.

It’s just a very brief clip, but Dad seems so lost, like an actor that stumbled into a scene without a script. There’s a misery and sadness in his posture and in his eyes that is heartbreaking.

Screengrab credit: New Mexico Lottery

What is so sad is that this should be one of the happier moments of my parents’ lives. Mom was trying to savor the moment, but she knew that no amount of money could save Dad’s mind. Several months later, Dad would become ill and never return home. Instead of a vacation, the winnings went to pay for him to live out his last months in a nursing home.

Of course, as a family, we were grateful that we could place Dad in a decent place, despite the issues that the facility had. Without that lottery jackpot, Mom and Dad would have been forced to go through their meager savings and ended up on Medicaid, where the level of care would have been sub-par at best.

So yes, we are thankful. But I know Dad in his normal state would have been grinning and talking about the “luck of the Irish” in this video clip. I’m just sorry he couldn’t fully enjoy a lucky moment for our family.

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October 1, 2012 · 9:10 pm

What would Dad think?

Mom has posed the question to me lately: If Dad were still alive and didn’t have Alzheimer’s, what would he think about her being diagnosed with colon cancer? I’m sure he would be surprised, considering he was the almost lifelong smoker and Mom lived a pretty squeaky clean life. I also don’t think Dad would have been able to accept the caregiver role. Let’s face it, sometimes stereotypes are correct, and women generally are better and more natural in the caregiving role. That doesn’t mean that there are not wonderful male caregivers and females who would run from the caregiving role. I myself would never have imagined myself in a caregiving role. Maybe for animals, but definitely not for people. But here I am, and doing a decent job. (Mom and I are reaching the point where we are getting on each other’s nerves, but that’s understandable after a month.)

My parents long ago, before disease caught up to them.

I’m sure Dad would be concerned and worried and would faithfully drive Mom to whatever appointments she had to go to. He would go out and get takeout food for Mom. But I can’t imagine Dad jumping in and helping with Mom’s colostomy bag. No way! And that’s not necessarily a criticism, but just the way that I see my parent’s relationship playing out if things had ended up differently.

I think Dad would have been scared to death of losing his rock. My mom pretty much managed my dad’s entire life so I think he would have done everything he could to keep her around. He would have been lost without her. Mom is more capable of managing on her own, but there’s a part of her that is still lost without Dad.

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September 30, 2012 · 9:31 pm

Lack of control is scary

So Mom had to go on antibiotics for a tooth infection, and it seems to be causing her G.I. issues that are manifesting themselves through her colostomy bag. This is to be expected, as antibiotics are known for causing side effects like that. I’m going to check with the home health agency to make sure probiotics are safe to give her.

Mom of course is depressed about the prospects of a colostomy bag for the rest of her life, and the lack of control she feels it presents. But the flip side isn’t always pretty either. Dad lost control of his bladder and bowels as his dementia took over. This manifested itself once he was in the nursing home. On my first visit, he would still try to communicate that he needed to go to the bathroom. By my second visit, he was completely incontinent.

One of the most painful memories I have of Dad’s stay at the nursing home was the call I got from one of the nursing assistants. They told me Dad had been taken to the E.R. This was nothing new by that point. I asked if he had fallen again. No, the staff member said. He had gotten into a fight with another resident. Dad had went into the other resident’s room, ripped off his diaper, and defecated. As one might expect, the other resident was not too happy. He hit Dad as he tried to get Dad out of his room.

Losing control can be a mental or physical thing, and sometimes it’s both. Mom is mentally aware and the loss of physical control is hard for her to deal with. I’m not sure if Dad realized the abilities he was losing rapidly to Alzheimer’s. It’s again one of those terrible mysteries that has to be buried with Dad.

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September 29, 2012 · 9:44 pm

We touch more people than we realize

Today, Mom and I dined at the local Mexican restaurant that her and Dad frequented over the years. The homey place is decorated with birds and the staff know my mom well. One server in particular, Maria, always goes out of her way to greet Mom. She even checked up on her when Mom was sick and didn’t come to the restaurant for a few months. Maria is a very kind and positive person. She always brightens Mom’s mood.

Today Mom mentioned how she missed coming to the restaurant with Dad, and Maria commented about what a wonderful guy he was. It’s always nice to hear these random kind comments from people who knew Dad. He was a quiet and unassuming guy, and did not have any local friends that he socialized with. But apparently his goodness shined through to those seeking it out.

In the end, these small but meaningful connections make up our legacy. I think Dad would be pleased that so many people think fondly of him.

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September 28, 2012 · 7:38 pm

On the march

Tomorrow in my dad’s hometown of Belfast, Northern Ireland there is a march to honor the Ulster Covenant Centenary. Authorities fear violence as these Protestant parades have historically incited the Irish Catholics in town.

The AP offers some background on the marches.

If Dad were still around, he would be following the events closely. As a staunch Irish Catholic, his Irish temper would flare during any discussion of the “troubles.” He had little tolerance for the British government. Since his death, I’ve come across numerous letters he wrote to newspapers and book authors challenging the status quo thinking about the political and religious strife in Northern Ireland.

Some of Dad’s relatives still live in Belfast, and I hope peace reigns over the city tomorrow.

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