Category Archives: Memories

March 11, 2012 · 1:25 pm

Tracking down Dad as a kid

Dad had a habit of disappearing on us when we were shopping at the mall. Understandably bored, he would usually sit in the car and read or meditate. But in the sweltering summer heat, Dad would have to venture elsewhere. And that’s when I was sent out as a reluctant one-person search party while my mom set on a bench in the shade and checked over her receipts to make sure she got all of the discounts owed her.

I can remember circling the mall completely, and still seeing no sign of Dad. I would peek inside at the handful of places he might venture into, such as the newsstand. I would check all of the smoking areas, where sometimes I would get lucky and find him. Other times, I felt like I would never find him. I would be mildly concerned but mainly irritated. It’s not like I ever thought he was in real danger at the time.

Of course, when the dementia set in, tracking Dad down was not a benign, mildly frustrating event but a frightening ordeal. My mom could not even go and have important work done on her teeth without Dad slipping away at the dentist office, despite the promise that the staff would look after him. “He’s at Sonic, is that okay,” the receptionist would ask my mom while she was trapped in the dentist chair, mouth numb and useless due to the Novocain.

“No!”

The dentist would try to finish up the procedure as quickly as he could, while my mom envisioned my dad crossing the street at the wrong time and being hit by a car, or taking off again and getting even more lost.

So Dad was always a wanderer, but the disease made it much harder to find him.

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March 10, 2012 · 10:06 am

“The deer are here!”

When I visited my mom this week, each night at dinner we were greeted by deer passing by the back door. Coming from Atlanta, this is always a novelty for me, that such beautiful yet skittish creatures dare to venture so close to human territory. Of course, the deer know it as their territory, and we encroached upon it.

The deer look like phantoms in the snow as I steal a photo through the screen door. From December 2011 in Ruidoso, NM.

They move silently, with grace but always with a wariness to their gait. One deer seemed to be looking right at me as I set in awe at the dinner table.

Mom and I remember how Dad used to get excited by the deer as well. “The deer are here,” he would announce with glee. This is before the dementia and the hallucinations that came with it, when the deer became people out in the woods.

I could see Dad being reincarnated as a deer. He was quiet and suspicious yet had a gentle spirit.

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March 9, 2012 · 10:50 am

Telling Dad I’m plastic

Here’s a cute little memory that my mom verified for me recently. Dad was a good Irish Catholic and faithfully went to church every Sunday. My mom had been raised a ‘fire-and-brimstone’ Southern Baptist and was not a regular church-goer. Luckily, I was not forced in either direction of faith, and allowed to decide for myself.

One Sunday when I was very small, my Dad kept asking me if I wanted to go to church with him. I ignored him, fully engrossed with some blocks on the floor. As he headed out the door he asked me one more time.

That pushed me over the edge. I looked up, with a very serious expression on my face and said very clearly, as if this was common knowledge, “Daddy, I’m not Catholic, I’m plastic.”

He never asked me to go to church again, but he always chuckled when he told the story.

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March 8, 2012 · 9:35 am

Dad’s final belongings

While I was visiting Mom, we went through two boxes brought over from the last assisted living facility that Dad resided at. In fact, he spent very little time there, as he was mostly confined to the hospital by that point.

Mom was not looking forward to the process, even though we both suspected that many of the items in the boxes would not be Dad’s. We were right. It’s a bit disturbing to handle clothes that belonged to strangers. Who were these people, and what were their stories?

And who ended up with Dad’s clothes and belongings?

We also found two photographs of someone’s grandkids, most likely, their smiling portraits foreign to us.

I did score a couple of Dad’s old jackets, which are precious to me, so it was worth the unsettling experience.

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March 7, 2012 · 10:26 am

The remains of a loved one

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Dad's cremains

Here is a part of what remains of my Dad in this world. My mom has the remaining portion, but she’s not ready to set Dad out on display yet. We picked out a pretty rainbow-painted container for her, but it still sits in a plastic shopping bag on her dresser, surrounded by bills and all of the paperwork involving the dead.

Dad will soon board a plane with me and head back home to Atlanta. He never had the chance to visit me there, but his remains are arriving just in time for Spring, the city’s most glorious season.

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March 6, 2012 · 8:04 am

Saying goodbye to another family member

Yesterday, I had to put my beloved cat Michigan to sleep. Michigan and I had a very close bond and he’s been in my life for over 14 years. He had battled a rare form of cancer for over three years. He was your typical scaredy cat that turned out to be quite the fighter when it came to the cancer. He wanted to stick around and for the most part, the last years of his life were still good quality. But finally, it was time to say goodbye. I was prepared for the event, but not for the moment.

My kitty Michigan, 1997-2012. RIP sweet boy.

Of course, Michigan’s death made me think about my father. I was not present at the moment of his death, and that bothered me as well. I’m actually headed out to Mom’s this week to pick up my portion of his ashes. Little did I know that I would be receiving two urns this week.

My dad never met Michigan, but he would always ask about him and the other pets when we talked. When his memory started fading, he asked me once, “How’s Missouri doing?” Close enough Dad, close enough.

Hopefully Dad and Michigan/Missouri are in a better place now, free of pain and suffering. Michigan was picky about the people he liked in his life, but I think he would have approved of Dad.

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March 5, 2012 · 9:20 am

Dad’s phone conversation with my teddy bear

For my third Christmas I received a teddy bear, which I named Honey Bear. It was by far my favorite toy of my childhood, and in fact, I still have him to this day, though he now resides in a box in the basement. As an only child, my stuffed animals were my main playmates and took on unique personalities. For example, Honey Bear could talk.

Honey Bear, 34 years later.

Or at least that’s what my dad said. We were away on an overnight trip and I was sulking because I was not allowed to bring my prized teddy bear, because Mom feared it might get dirty or lost. Dad tried to make me feel better the next morning over breakfast by telling me he talked to Honey Bear.

I was probably four or five at the time, but already had a healthy suspicious streak. I called Dad’s bluff and told him I didn’t believe him. But Dad was insistent, saying he talked to him after I went to bed, and that they didn’t want to wake me.

I still wasn’t buying it. “How could Honey Bear reach the phone, it’s so high up on the wall,” I retorted.

“Well he just grabbed a chair and climbed up,” Dad offered up wisely.

I’m not sure if I ever bought the story completely, but that night when we got home, I rushed to my room, hugged Honey Bear to my chest and cried my little heart out. Mom and Dad even let him have a special seat at the dinner table that night.

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March 4, 2012 · 8:00 am

Dad with Band-Aids on his face

As a kid, I remember Dad emerging from the bathroom with Band-Aids stuck to his freshly shaven chin. “I nicked myself again,” he would sigh, and being squeamish at the sight of blood, he would slap on the first thing he could find. It was not always the ideal match. Sometimes he would be sporting the little round bandages, sometimes the skinny long ones. On the rare occasions of multiple shaving wounds, he would have a mix of bandages adorning his freshly shorn stubble. 

The last month of his life, Dad was in the CCU at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque. The nurse, a gregarious type who had called me in Atlanta to tell me that the doctor said keeping my dad on life support was futile, came in to shave my dad. My mom and I stepped out for lunch, and upon our return, the nurse rushed back into the room. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed.

Dad had a Band-Aid on his face, and a bit of dried blood could be seen around the edges.
“I accidentally cut him while shaving him,” the nurse said with great remorse.

Dad was unaware of the shaving snafu. He was under sedation and on a ventilator. I guess one could call it adding insult to injury, but considering everything Dad was going through at the time, floating somewhere between life and death, something with a simple fix like a shaving cut was almost a relief.

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March 3, 2012 · 10:00 am

Family time spent at the dentist

Even though my dad’s teeth were in pretty bad shape, I don’t remember him going that often to the dentist. He was the typical guy that would wait until the pain was unbearable before he’d go get the problem taken care of. I had plenty of cavities as a kid, but the main things I remember about my childhood dentist, Dr. Friedman, was the taste of the toothpaste (kind of like a berry bubblegum flavor) and the huge wooden chest of dollar store toys that you got to choose from when you completed your visit. So going to the dentist wasn’t traumatic for me at all.

My mom on the other hand, had a ton of problems with her teeth. Dr. Wyland was her dentist, and we made dozens of trips there as a family. While Mom was subject to the dentist’s drill, Dad and I had a blast. This place was the most awesome dentist office ever. First of all, I’ll never forget the giant homemade cookies that were in the waiting area. They were amazing. I always grabbed the chocolate chip, while Dad preferred the oatmeal raisin. I know, free cookies at the dentist? What an easy way to ensure a steady stream of future patients!

There was a soda and coffee machine, so Dad would buy me a Coke and he would get coffee, of course. Then, we went into the movie theatre. That’s right, the dentist office had its own theatre! They showed classic, family-friendly movies and Dad and I would hang out in there until Mom finally emerged, with her mouth all numbed up. Dad would sneak out a couple of times for a smoke break, of course, and he would always have the “usher” keep an eye on me. The usher was an older gentleman with white hair and a moustache. He looked a bit like Wilford Brimley. Dad liked to chat with him and I was more than content to eat cookies, drink soda and watch movies all afternoon long.

The dentist practice has changed names, but it still exists!

It’s crazy, but these trips to the dentist were enjoyable for me and my dad. I’m sure Mom would remember quite a different version of events.

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March 2, 2012 · 10:24 am

Dad and I in the photo booth

Another one of my favorite family photos is this series of snapshots taken in a photo booth when I was a baby. I don’t know if it was Dad’s idea or Mom’s idea, but Dad is flashing a big smile while I seem less than enthused about being in the spotlight. My mom always liked the way my head is in a different position in each photo. It’s a cute series, and Dad seems so relaxed in these shots, handsome and striking in his snazzy jacket.

I treasure the photos where Dad is smiling, because he was notorious for not wanting to smile in photographs. It became a family joke that ever photo with Dad looked like it was taken at a funeral. He was embarrassed about the condition of his teeth, which were not in great shape. Being raised during a time of war meant things like cleaning your teeth were a luxury, not a necessity. So I think he started out with less than perfect teeth, and then he smoked since the time he was 16, and as I’ve mentioned before, drank coffee all the time, so they became stained over the years. In another post, I will write about my family’s many trips to the dentist, but suffice to say for now, that we were frequent visitors to the dentist’s chair.

But in these photos, Dad is not holding back at all, showing off one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen on his face. The photos capture a sweet, carefree and innocent moment as a family, not bad for a set of cheap photo booth images. In fact, I like these shots better than any of the professional family photos we took later on. Candid is often better, especially when it comes to family, because then you capture people’s true essence.

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