Dementia is a many splendored thing

It is hard to look at the behaviors of my father and reconcile them with the man who raised me. They do not match. It is an oxymoron in the grossest sort of way. Between the petulant outburst reminiscent of the "terrible twos" and the verbal shouting matches that accompany even the most mundane of tasks, there are days that I could cheerfully pull the covers back over my head and simply die.

Dealing with these quality moments is draining. Saying that or typing it doesn't remove the understatement that it is.

From my earliest childhood, Daddy was "the man" - literally and figuratively. He seemingly walked on water. I saw him walk on roof-lines often enough to believe that he could indeed do anything. He could plow and plant and raise a garden on faith and prayers and love. He could tame horses and get dogs to do his bidding with little effort. He understood complex math and could explain embarrassing life circumstances.

Those qualities are slipping away from him.

Simple things like writing a check or getting the mail now puzzle him. We try to do the bills together, but that often turns into a session of me trying to calm him down while he swears. The words coming out of his mouth are not those of the Daddy I remember who often made me lick Palmolive soap for using curse words of any stripe.

Some days, he talks of adventures I know he NEVER had. He speaks of boxing with John L. Sullivan and Joe Louis. He talks about getting into fist fights and brawls with much larger men and coming out unscathed. There are times I think those kinds of conversations are a metaphor for his rational mind trying to fight of an opponent in the shape of his mental issues which he cannot come to grips with but against which he must grapple every single day. The frustration in his voice is palpable.

Today, he and his nephew (who is ALSO a Senior Citizen) decided to go to Huntsville without telling me. Holy cow, but that was not a fun discovery to make!!! 

To say he scared me witless is almost an absolute truth. His patience level has diminished to the point that when he gets fixated on an idea, he must do it if it hair-lips hell and half of China. It simply cannot wait. Whatever IT is, he feels a compulsion to do it and do it now.

Our excursion to the State Farm office today was a painful case in point. 

When Daddy returned from Huntsville, he gave me a cheery phone call asking me to come take him a few places. Okey dokey. I'll do what I can. 

Daddy means well most of the time, but his recollection of what you can and can't do has been significantly altered by the progression of his disease. He well remembers the day when his name alone carried weight in this town and allowed him to do a lot of things denied to others. His name carried status and position earned through toil and effort and gained by trust and honor.

Those days are gone. A man's name doesn't mean much to people who never knew you in your prime. People have moved into our little town until it is no longer little. While not a New York style metropolis, it is no longer the place where everyone knows your name. Your family name doesn't carry weight anymore unless it is a business or unless you have something political or philanthropic attached to it.

Daddy's stated mission today was to compel an insurance agent to write a very specific health insurance policy for our soon to be married son and his lovely fiance. Despite all of my rational approach to this conundrum, the carefully reasoned excuses for why this was not the right time and my frequently repeated offerings of going to do other things, Daddy had his mind made up that he was going to enforce his will upon the insurance company by sheer weight of who he was.

It didn't happen. I knew it wouldn't. What he was demanding is no longer even an option to the insurance companies of today. They were in vogue 50 years ago, but times have changed sufficiently that a lot of insurance companies no longer even insure for health, but instead only cover property of all kinds. 

When the agent patiently explained that hardly anyone in the business covered what he was asking for, Daddy left there looking much smaller and weaker. It was as if for that one moment he, in a rational portion of his mind, realized that it was no longer "his day in the sun". It was a sad sight to see.

My day in this morass of confusion is coming, of this I am sure. Studies and readings of medical journals have made me pretty aware of reality and I am currently fully cognizant of the fact that over 70% of people over the age of 70 develop issues with memory and cognition. 

I'm certain that when my turn comes, I'll be sitting somewhere in Shady Pines Nursing Home drooling down my wrapper, talking in nonsensical terms about a life far removed from reality and insisting that I know what is best... even when I don't. 

I don't take that knowledge lightly nor do I like the sound of the shape of things to come.

Some days, the reality of what is happening to the Daddy I know and love is almost more than I can bear. But then I try to keep it in perspective by reminding myself that this is not, nor has it ever been, about me. 

It's Daddy who is going through this and despite any efforts I may make in his behalf, I am nothing more than a sideline observer who is fairly helpless to do anything to change the outcome.

There are days that I truly envy those elderly who are in full possession of their faculties until the candle of their life is snuffed out during an afternoon nap or right after supper comes. It is the pleasant sort of goodbye we all hope to receive.

But it is not always the reality we are to face. Some watch their loved ones slip away bit by bit, dying a little more each day as if sunset is an unwitting accomplice to the grim reaper who waits for us all. 

With each fresh sunrise, we receive someone not completely whole and who is being unmercifully whittled away bit by bit until the last fading ember of their life purpose fades to black. I don't like that notion, but we don't get a choice on how we go when our turn comes.

Emotional exhaustion on these days is a heavy factor. It is as if the happiness and joy of what used to be is completely gone. And I hate having to quietly explain to the people who have been the innocent targets of Daddy's verbal onslaught that he is NOT in his right mind and beg them to not take offense. The bad days are starting to show up quite frequently now. I hate that. I truly do. 

We were taught to understand that "hate" wasn't a nice word. But in this case, it applies. To hate something means that you wish it gone, banished, dead... 

I feel that way about dementia. I wish that it was gone, banished and dead from our lexicon so that families didn't have to say goodbye inch by inch until that last goodbye before the resurrection. It would be wonderful to live "to the age of a tree" and then just quietly be received up into the arms of God without furor and fanfare.


Sadly, I don't see a check box anywhere around here for that option. So it is what it is. There are some days it's a whole lot less than it appears to be, too.

Daddy is resting in "his trundle chair" now - not quite sure where he lost control, but resting anyway since there isn't anything he can do about it. 

While I have been asked repeatedly why I take him on these outings, I try to explain that if I fail to take him, Daddy can and does make other plans to do whatever the hell he wants to as long as he can. Sometimes it's just easier to take him and make it an "apology tour" for anyone in the line of fire for his spleen venting on that given day.

Dementia sucks lemons.