February 16, 2012 · 11:38 am

First plane trip with the family

My first trip by airplane took place when I was 11 years old. In 1985, you could still smoke on planes, much to my dad’s relief. He hated flying, and smoking was one way to alleviate his fears. We were going to Tennessee to visit my mom’s family, so a train or bus was out of the question, with us departing from California. I remember there was a lot of activity and anxiety about the trip beforehand. I’m pretty sure my dad tried to back out of the trip on more than one occasion.

Once he was on the plane, he was fine, especially when he could light a cigarette and chat to the person next to him. There may or may not have been an alcoholic beverage ordered. I believe my mom tried to get the two of us seats in the “non-smoking” section, but really, what difference does it make in those close quarters?

Luckily, the weather was good and the ride was smooth both ways. In fact, the only incident of note came when I got lost in the LAX airport on the way back home, somehow managing to get separated from my parents. I had never been so happy to hear my dad’s voice calling my name as I was at that moment where he spotted me in the crowd. Dad’s long legs and fast walking had come in handy once again.

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February 15, 2012 · 11:05 am

Dad’s dislike of seat belts

In 1986 in California, it became mandatory for everyone over the age of 16 to wear a seat belt while in a car. There was a major advertising campaign to make the public aware, along with the threat of being pulled over by the police and receiving a fine. My mom and I had no problem with the law; I think we were already used to wearing our seat belts because of my mom’s focus on safety. But my dad was another matter.

For some reason, he HATED wearing a seat belt. When the law took effect, every trip in the car became a battle over the seat belt. Dad would refuse to wear it and Mom would nag him endlessly about it. Sometimes, as a compromise, he would drape the belt over his shoulder, to pretend he was wearing it. (I’m sure this could have been quite dangerous, maybe even as much as not wearing the seat belt at all!) Often, we would ride around town in fear of a cop pulling us over for a seat belt violation.

Dad said the seat belt felt like it was choking him, and he didn’t like to be restricted by it. He was not interested in Mom’s statistics on how seat belts save lives. It was one thing he was really stubborn about. I can’t remember how long he kept his anti-seat belt campaign alive. I know once they retired to New Mexico, he would wear his seat belt, so I guess he got over his extreme aversion.

But since he was so sensitive about it, it made me wonder if being hooked up to all of those machines at the end of his live gave him that same feeling of being restricted in movement. He was too weak to offer up much of a fight at that point. I’m guessing that wherever Dad is now, no seat belts are required.

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February 14, 2012 · 11:00 am

My parents, and their enduring love

My parents may never have been the most passionate of couples, but their love for one another endured for 40 years, and that’s saying a lot in today’s world. I remember being one of the only kids at school whose parents had NOT divorced, and all of the pain and suffering broken marriages inflict upon children. I don’t believe parents should stay together for the kids, because children are way smarter than we give them credit for and can see through artificial arrangements like that quite easily. I’m not sure what the answers are, but I think we have many more selfish expectations now about our ideal relationship, and when reality strikes, we are more than willing to jump ship.

My parents’ generation was different. A marriage vow was taken more seriously and literally. Sure, there were still divorces, but the vow wasn’t nearly as disposable as it is now. When my parents married in 1971, at 34 and 39, they were quite a bit older than the average marriage age for their generation. They found love later in life, and my dad may not have been the flashy guy with the cool car, like the type my mom had dated in the past. But my dad intrigued my mom, with his Irish accent and striking dark and handsome features. Dad was always more mum on what attracted him to mom.


Their relationship was not always perfect. There were fights, there were threats of divorce, but it all blew over and for the last half of their marriage, they had settled into a comfortable companionship. They were dependent upon one another yet independent in certain aspects, at least until my dad became ill. And the way my mom sacrificed to take care of dad, the toils of caregiving, the long trek to see him in the nursing home, she deserves a medal in my book. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what it is.

So happy Valentine’s Day Mom and Dad. You taught me more about love than I ever gave you credit for.

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February 13, 2012 · 9:51 am

My parents and the ‘Love Is …’ cartoons

With it being Valentine’s week, my mind turns to my parents and their romantic relationship. My parents were married in 1971 when the ‘Love Is …’ cartoons were quite popular. The single-frame cartoon series launched in the L.A. Times the year before, and in my childhood, I remember countless clippings of these cartoons that my mom would keep around. I liked them because the drawings and words were simple and I could understand many of them, even at a young age.

©2012 Tribune Media Services

My mom would say that the cartoon couple somewhat resembled the two of them, with the boy figure’s shock of dark hair just like my dad’s and the girl’s longer hair was the way my mom had kept hers back in the day. There is a sweetness and innocence about the cartoon series that appealed to my parents, who didn’t have that storybook romance, but found a safe and comforting companionship with one another. Oh, and they got me out of it, I think they would include that as a bonus!

As simple as the cartoons are, they often carry a universal message of love and good advice about relationships. As an adult, I can see why the series has been so popular for so long throughout the world.

Anyways, the whimsical image of the “Love Is …” cartoon couple is forever burned into my mind and it always makes me think of my parents in a warm and fuzzy way.

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February 12, 2012 · 10:15 am

Dad’s favorite vacation: The Queen Mary

I wish I had more detailed memories of our stay aboard The Queen Mary, the historic ship/hotel docked in Long Beach. I remember being quite small, I would say six or under. Knowing my dad’s loves of ships, this must have been a dream getaway for him. Dad would tolerate the amusement parks for my sake, but to get to stay aboard a real ship was the way to vacation in his book. With dad’s love of history, it must have been a real treat to get to see and touch in person what he had only read about in books.

I’m sure I saw a great deal of fascinating things, with the variety of ship tours offered, but sadly I have little recollection of being aboard the ship. What I do remember clearly from the trip is the souvenir I picked out. It was this little round plastic purse, which had a tiny comb, brush and hand mirror inside. The purse had a handle so you could carry it around easily. It had a clear front cover, with a detailed image of The Queen Mary ship printed on it and the back cover was red. It had a zipper in the center to access the contents.

Photo: Audio Visual Designs

I remember this purse so clearly, the way the new plastic smelled and squishing the soft, flexible shell of the case after emptying its contents. I was very proud of that little purse and held on to it tightly on the ship, while giving my other hand to my dad as we navigated the crowd. That’s the only brief memory I have from aboard the ship. The purse, however, I kept for years and years. I think I finally donated it with a bunch of other kids’ stuff when I was a teenager.

I’m glad to see that The Queen Mary is still operating. I know it was a special vacation for my dad and therefore, it will always hold a special place in my heart.

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February 11, 2012 · 9:46 am

A Disneyland memory that really pops

When I turned four, my parents took me to Disneyland to celebrate my birthday. I have vague recollections of my first visit, which didn’t go well. I’m guessing I was two or so at the time, and I was at that stage where Disneyland was scary, not fun. Luckily, by four I had grown up enough to enjoy all of the little kid rides and the electrical parade. I’m not sure if dad enjoyed any of this. I know as I got older dad and I were the ones that would go on the more challenging rides that mom refused to go on.

Anyways, it had been a long day at the amusement park and we were headed back to our hotel. There was a vendor holding a bunch of Mickey Mouse head balloons. Of course, I had to have one. All things considered, the balloons were not the most expensive souvenir, so my dad paid for it and off we went.

Photo: X-entertainment.com

We had just arrived back in the hotel room and dad quickly headed out to the balcony for a smoke. (Of course.) Mom retreated to the bathroom to change into her nightgown. And I was left to play with my balloon. What my three-year-old mind did not comprehend was that stucco ceilings and helium-filled balloons do not play well together.

I’m sure you can imagine what happened next. I let the balloon float to the ceiling, it met a very vocal death to a rough point of stucco, and I began crying at the top of my lungs. My parents thought there was an intruder and I had been shot. Dad rushed back into the room ready to play hero. Alas, there was not much he could do to repair the latex shreds of Mickey. I believe my dad offered to go get me another balloon but it was getting late by that point, and I think I’d had enough of balloons for the moment. We all had a good laugh at this memory over the years, and it’s the most clear memory I have of that trip to Disneyland.

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February 10, 2012 · 10:06 am

Looking for Dad on the hill

Even after my dad had to stop driving due to his increasing dementia, there was a period where he could still do errands on his own. This gave my mom some much-needed quiet time, and kept dad from getting cabin fever. But as he declined further, mom would worry about him returning safely more and more. I think I’ve mentioned before how he would wander off on his own sometimes, saying he was going to the bank on Sundays even though it was closed.

The hill in front of my parents’ property became a focal point of these journeys. My mom (and I when I was visiting home) would stare out the window in the guest bedroom, praying silently that we would see the tall, lean figure of my dad, his long legs pumping strongly up that hill, returning home safely. So even though my mom should have been able to enjoy that time alone, she was still constantly fearing she would get the phone call that all families dealing with dementia dread. She would worry that he would be hit by a car because he would ignore the crossing signal. She worried that he would forget where to go or how to return home.

That hill was one of the markers of my dad’s independence, and how quickly it was fading. Soon, he would only be allowed to stand on the porch to smoke, with my mom or I peeking out to make sure he didn’t slip down the stairs and wander off. The porch overlooks the hill, and I don’t know if dad could reason at that point that Alzheimer’s was robbing his independence, or if everything surrounding him seemed like a foreign land that he had never seen before.

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February 9, 2012 · 12:44 pm

My dad, the rubber band man

There was a year or so where dad was still able to run errands on his own. This was sometime between the 2008 photo where his eyes began to look vacant and the burrito incident.

Mom would send dad to the post office to mail letters, usually a bunch of bills. The post office was not very far from their home. When she saw how forgetful he was getting, she started putting rubber bands around the letters. She’d snap two or three red, brown or green rubber bands around the envelopes, just as much to keep the letters together as to keep dad together enough to complete the task. All he had to do was place them in the outgoing mail box at the post office. It was a task he had done hundreds of times in the past flawlessly. Now it required a plan, a course of action.

Mom would tell my dad to take the rubber bands off the letters just before he dropped them in the mailbox. Then he was to wear the rubber bands on his wrist like bracelets until he came home. That was the sign that he had completely the task successfully.

And it worked for a stretch of several months or so. (At least, as far as we know, none of the bill payments were reported lost.) Dad would hold up his arms when he arrived home. Mom would peel the thin bands off his bony wrists, kiss him and tell him job well done.

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February 8, 2012 · 9:27 am

Trying to hold on to Dad

In many ways, caring for someone with Alzheimer’s can be like tending to a toddler going through the “terrible two’s.” The caregiver has to keep track of them at all times, 24/7, because you never know what they might get into next.

Recently, in the town where my mom now resides alone, a man who had Alzheimer’s wandered off while his wife, his primary caregiver, was getting a shower. He ended up getting caught in debris in a ravine and died of exposure. I always feared my dad would end up like this when he still lived at home.

I took the photo seen here for a a MedicAlert device I bought for dad that had GPS built in so it could track a wandering Alzheimer’s patient. You can see the confusion, that constant state of being startled, that my dad was going through at the time. He was beginning to wander and it scared my mom to death. But shortly after getting the device, and before even having time to try it out on dad, he suffered a physical health crisis that landed him in the hospital for two weeks to have a kidney stone removed.

Following the hospital stay, he went to live in an an assisted living facility that had a secure dementia ward. We didn’t have to worry about him wandering anymore, but he also never returned home.

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February 7, 2012 · 10:22 am

Dad’s eyes reflected Alzheimer’s

A family photo from March 2008 illustrates the beginning of my dad’s mental decline. There is a vacancy in his eyes, as if he’s not quite there with us on the couch, even though he’s gripping my hand tightly.

Dad most likely started showing symptoms of dementia in late 2007. It’s difficult to pinpoint dementia’s starting point, because often the symptoms at first are vague and not of concern until you step back to look at the bigger picture. He seemed more forgetful, conversations were a bit more awkward, but for the most part, he was still there.

I remember this photo clearly. Dad’s driving days were numbered, and we had just returned from a stressful, harrowing ride into town. We went to dinner and he was still able to order his meal and pay the bill at this time. Soon, my mom would have to place all orders and pay for them. Dad almost ran off the road as we were turning into the condo community my parents called home.

I was leaving the next day and wanted to take a couple of photos. Dad still had his bulky jacket on, a sign he was about to go outside for a smoke. At the time, I had no idea that this photo would be so revealing. It was the beginning of long, painful journey as my dad’s mind was destroyed by disease. We were still a family unit, but one of our members was vanishing, slowly but surely.

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