The final Verse

 My dad passed away in September, 2018. 

I did not blog for the last four years of his life because of family strife. There were people from his past that just didn't need to know his situation and details of his life. I felt it unwise to put out any updates or stories.

It's sad when relationships go awry and money, not love, becomes the driving force of their actions. 

I loved being involved in the last years of Dad's life. I grew to love him more deeply than ever before. His loss did not tear me apart emotionally, because the dad I knew had slowly disappeared, leaving a shell that resided in a bed having little to no free will. That tore me apart more than his death. 

Picture from the Internet

In the Garden

Judy said that Dad talked in his sleep the other night. He commented, very clearly,

"I'm in a beautiful garden, shackled by chains."

It seems that what he can't express when he is awake, comes out loud and clear from his subconscious at night. How sad.

Gypsy Jabbers: Visiting Dad

This is a post I had on my "Living a Dream" blog. I felt I should cross post it here.

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That lady who feeds me put me in the car, without Tucker. At first I was a bit nervous, thinking we might be going to that place that smells terrible and where I get shots. 

But we passed by that stinky place and kept driving. 

I became curious and more curiouser about where we were going.

We went into a huge building. 

Then we went into a small room with doors 

that opened and closed all by themselves.

I wasn't happy with the way my tummy felt

when I was in that tiny room with the funny doors.

We went around a corner and down a long hall.

There were all kinds of interesting smells.

I could smell a cat behind one door.

There was a dog behind another door.

She barked at me.

Then we went into a place where there was

a man called, "Dad".

Me and "Dad" talked a bit.

We had a fine visit.

I hope I can go back and visit "Dad" again!

Gone With the Wind

A few days ago I stopped by Dad's place to take Judy to lunch and then for a massage. Instead of meeting Judy outside of the complex, I decided to go to their apartment (since I was early) and have a chance to say, "Hi!" to Dad. He was at the table, in his pajamas, having recently finished breakfast. I gave him a hard time about his wardrobe. He responded with two or three words that made sense, followed by several words of mumbo jumbo. I asked him something else, and got a similar response. Often what he says doesn't always make sense, but the syntax of his speech is always correct. This new speech pattern was totally different. His statements almost always began with three words that were correct, such as, "Say, I need…" followed by several rhyming words and then a string of words beginning with the same consonant. So his complete sentence might be, "Say, I need vegan jeegan delta dingy doggish."

I asked Judy if this was new. Apparently, he was fine when he got up and through breakfast, and had just recently begun to have the communication issue. As we talked about this, Dad seemed to slip further away from the here and now, and continued his gibberish. Each statement continued to follow the pattern of several words in correct context, some rhyming words and then a string of alliterative words. In hindsight I wish I had recorded his speech. It was really quite fascinating.

Dad was seated in a dining chair that has wheels, and he kept trying to scoot away. Judy and I were seated on either side of him. If we asked him a question, such as, "Do you want to go sit on the couch?" He'd respond in his new pattern. We had no clue what he was really trying to say. Finally we were able to turn his chair to face the table and he put his head down on the table. He swore a few times. Sometimes when we asked if he was hurting he'd respond in the affirmative. Several times he indicated that his head hurt. However, other times he would say he didn't have any pain. Dad remained slumped over, alternating with having his forehead on the table, or having his head on his hand. Periodically he would lift his head and look out with bleary eyes. It wasn't clear if he really saw anything or even knew if we were there.

While this was happening Judy and I were watching the swift approach of a sever thunderstorm. The skies darkened. Thunder boomed and the sky lit up. The wind began to whistle and shake the windows. The tree outside the window was being whipped and small branches were flying loose. The rain pelted the windows. Hail began to pound down. Dad became unresponsive. He didn't lift his head. He swore occasionally, but didn't talk to us much. Judy and I shared concerned looks over his head. As the storm worsened, and Dad's conditioned worsened, the rain outside was matched by the tears in our eyes.

I couldn't help but feel the eeriness of the storm coinciding with the crumpling of my father. I couldn't help but imagine that some transcendental spirit was doing battle with the strong will of my father - perhaps trying to wrest him away from his earthly roots.

The storm blew past and the sun began to shine on the mountains to the west. The sun made its way to the grounds outside the window and a crew of grounds-keepers who had been chased inside, came out to resume their task of trimming the shrubs and cleaning up the branches and leaves.

Dad sat up, blinked his eyes a few times, and commented about how the men were raking the leaves and branches. His speech was perfect. He was 'in the moment'. He made perfect sense. He turned to Judy and asked about lunch.

Dad was back!

If I were more spiritual, I would argue that the storm was a manifestation of the angels' frustration and anger when they came to take Dad, and he refused to go. His will overpowering them.

It makes a great story….

Disregarding the spiritual aspects of this experience, one might come to the conclusion that my father experienced a TIA. It explains the behaviors we saw.

But having watched Dad slumped over, with his head on the table. Having heard him swear. Having seen the miraculous transformation that came about as the storm passed…

one has wonder!

Fascination with Food

Dad is on a "see food" diet. If the food is there, he will eat it. 

I first noticed this last Christmas. On Christmas Eve our family celebrates with a Swedish smorgasbord. Generally I begin with hors d'oeuvres items, then I add items to the table; first some breads and cold cuts, then meat balls and potato salad, and finally dessert. We each dish up a small plate of food and sit in the living room, and begin the gift exchanges, going back for new foods as they are set out. 

To begin with I had a selection of cheeses, herring and crackers on the table. Dad enjoyed the herring. In fact, we couldn't get him away from that end of the table. He stood there, helping himself to piece after piece of herring and crackers, until he couldn't eat any more. 

Not too long ago we went out to lunch with some friends. Dad had a burger with all of the fixings. He also had a very clean plate when he was finished. He ate everything, every crumb, every piece of the tomato and every little bit of each leaf of lettuce. Oh, and he also would have eaten my dessert had I let him!

When I have been visiting him, he will often ask Judy what they will be having for dinner. When she responds, he will say, "Let's go!" He is ready to eat, even though it may only be 2:00 PM. Many times as I come in and sit down he will ask when we are heading out to the restaurant for dinner. He gets so disappointed when I explain that we won't be going out, that I will be heading home to make dinner for my husband and myself. 

Dad and Judy came for a lovely Thanksgiving dinner. He enjoyed his meal and was always an eager participant in seconds! But, I purposely did not begin with appetizers and we served the food buffet style, so the serving dishes were out of sight... and mostly out of mind!

I am theorizing that some of the behavior I am noticing may be due to the fact that Dad was always a busy man, and he now finds reading, working on the computer or writing too difficult to attend to. Therefore, nothing is occupying his time, so... might as well eat!

Dad's Getting Married in....

... well, not tomorrow morning, but he's gonna get hitched in January! Dad's lady friend has lived with him for more than two years. From the beginning of the relationship, Dad has wanted to get married. He often whispered to me, "Don't you think I should ask Judy to marry me?" After the disaster of his previous marriage, I would respond with a resounding, "NO!" I figured Dad would be content with things the way they were. But no, he is an old-fashioned kinda guy and in his mind men don't live with women, they marry them. In all of this, his lady friend has also been a bit reluctant to marry. So, I didn't feel badly about counseling Dad against a union.

However, he persists. 

She has relented.
I see the love they share and I can't stand in the way. 

How wonderful for Dad, at almost 92 years of age, to find someone who cares about him deeply and wants to be by his side!

How Does Your Garden Grow?

We took Dad to the Botanic Gardens the other afternoon. He seemed to enjoy the variety of flowers. We did too!

We used a wheel chair 'just in case'. Dad walked through much of the garden, pushing the wheel chair himself. When he got tired, and when we hit rough ground, or uphill treks, we took over the task of pushing.

We're looking forward to another trip in the future.

The Dog Dad Doesn't Have

Dad loves dogs. 

Specifically, Dad loves Golden Retrievers. 

Having a dog, especially a large dog in an apartment

would be a challenge for Dad. 

However, having a dog come visit is a perfect solution.

Meet Clyde. Clyde belongs to a friend of mine.

He is the biggest Golden I have known.

He is a bundle of love.

He knew exactly who's feet he should lie on!

Freaky Friday

I received a phone call from Judy, Dad's lady friend, yesterday. She was very worried about Dad. He was on the floor, trying to disentangle an extension cord because he needed to walk the dog. If she tried to divert him from the task he became agitated because the dog needed to be walked and this was the leash. The cord wound around behind a piece of furniture and snaked over other cords. Dad continued his obsessive task continually expressing concern about needing to walk the dog. Dad doesn't have a dog.
In addition, Judy commented, Dad seemed to have a sinus infection, as he was congested and his head hurt. He even held his hands over his ears to try to stop the pain. He wouldn't hold onto the phone to talk to me, wanting to hold his head instead. I talked with him on speaker phone and he commented about the electrical shocks in his head.
We decided he should visit the Doctor in his building. However, he was still in his pajamas. Apparently Dad had trouble getting his clothes on, having some issues with motor control. He also chose to put his clothes over his pajamas. The trip to the doctor brought no relief. She checked his vital signs and they seemed to be alright. She drew some blood, and later, the results proved to be normal. Dad continues to be in pain, he had trouble sleeping last night and has little appetite. He also seems to find it difficult to hold things, whether because he wants to continually hold his head, or whether it is some sort of neurological problem, I don't know.
The most difficult aspect of this is that I am out of town, and it is a weekend. My first reaction was to have Dad taken to the emergency room. Judy was, and remains, dead set against this. She had horrifying experiences with ER's with her first husband, who is now deceased. Later, when I talked with the Doctor, she indicated that an ER is not the best place for a geriatric patient experiencing cognitive problems. How sad. Her preference, if Dad's symptoms remain the same, is to wait until she can set dad up for the necessary tests as an outpatient on Monday. And so, we wait. We worry. We wish that Tylenol would alleviate Dad's discomfort.

Dad rowing the dog ashore in earlier days

But, Who Takes Care of the Sewage?

Dad lives in an independent living community.  Last night he asked me who has to take care of the sewage. I hesitated before answering, and he elaborated. He was wondering, he told he, who hooked up the hose for water and the electrical lines where he lives, and was puzzled whether he was supposed to hook up the sewage. He was worried because he knew he hadn't connected any hoses or sewer lines  I realized that Dad was either thinking about the times he traveled on a large sailboat or a motorhome. I guess it isn't that surprising, since I am on the road in our motorhome and tell him about campgrounds we are visiting. Dad was pleasantly surprised when I told him the building, and his apartment, had sewage and water pipes built into it, as well as the electrical wires. He thought that was great!

Source

The State of the Union

Dad is living with his lady friend, a gal more than 15 years his junior. When they were considering their current living arrangements I talked with his lady friend to try to determine her motivation for moving in with Dad. As he was still dealing with details of his disastrous divorce, I was hesitant for him to begin another messy situation. She seemed genuine enough and seemed to be involved in the relationship because she cared for my Dad, not for his money. She said he was like an Oreo cookie. The part on the outside was OK, but inside there was some really sweet stuff.
Recently my dad's lady friend was asked what she envisioned as her future when my dad passed on. She surprised me by saying she wanted to get a small apartment, downtown, where she could be near restaurants, museums and other cultural activities. I had figured she would want to stay in the continuing care retirement community. I began thinking that Dad may be a ball and chain, holding her back from her own dreams. So, today I took her out for lunch so we could have a frank conversation without 'you-know-who'!
What a wonderful woman! She felt that Dad was requiring more of her attention at this point in time than he had last year, but, she said she was still fine with the arrangement. She agreed to let me know when she needed more help, whether it was my taking on more responsibility, or arranging for some additional care, or whether it was that Dad needed to consider moving to an assisted living situation. She didn't feel that her life and happiness were compromised by her involvement with my dad.
After the disaster of his brief marriage, to a whiny, self-centered woman, this lady is remarkable! But, you know, I don't think Dad would have appreciated her as much had it not been for living with someone who was so totally opposite!

Checking It Twice

I don't know about you, but I rarely write checks anymore. Dad is no different. He writes a few checks for Christmas gifts, and he writes checks for his taxes. It takes Dad a while to write a check. He flips back and forth between the check and the check register, loses his place, and finally figures out where to write everything. As long as he has only one check to write, everything goes smoothly. However, he gets confused when he has to write several checks. He forgets who he has written a check to and has trouble getting each check in the correct envelope. Then, when they are in envelopes, he forgets that he has written a particular check, and will try to write another. Luckily almost all of his bills are handled through bill pay. Most are on auto pay, and the rest I take care of for Dad. When he gets a bill, he calls me and I access his account and fill in the necessary information to have the bill handled. 

I bought a "Paid" stamp for Dad. I think he'll like it. It will give him a job to do. It will also help avoid his panic when he stumbles on a bill and thinks it hasn't been paid. Dad will spend hours at his desk. He'll go through the file cabinet and look through papers he finds in there. For whatever reason, he thinks they are all current. Now, as long as he doesn't use the stamp until he has talked to me about a bill, he'll know the status.

A Bad Situation Turns Out OK...This Time

Dad got a phone call this afternoon. Apparently the "Impeach Obama" group is seeking donations. Since Dad is a devout, died-in the wool, card carrying Republican who has donated to the party and its friends in the past.... he has a target on his back. I wasn't there, but Dad's girl overheard the conversation. The group had Dad's credit card number - I'm not sure how or why, and he agreed to their hitting him up for $175.00. As soon as his girl heard him agree to the donation she read him the riot act. She told Dad that one should never... NEVER... give money over the phone. There is no way to know who is accessing his information, who will actually benefit from the donation and what other uses they might make of the account information. She got on the phone to his credit card institution.

Then, things get interesting. There was no draft on his account in that amount. Actually, there were no charges on his card for the last 4 days. The agency suggested that Dad's card be cancelled, and a new one issued. His girl explained that he had just gotten this card and we have just changed all of his bills over to the new number. She hated the idea of going through all of that again. The clerk from the bank was able to access information from the old credit card number. He noticed that a charge of $175.00 had been charged on the card today.... and denied! Hooray!

I talked with Dad about the dangers of phone solicitations. He sounded surprised when I explained that there were all sorts of scams out there to bilk people out of their money. I told him, in the future, to suggest that the organization send him information to read, and only then might he consider a donation. But, I don't believe this will stop Dad from making a donation to a good sales pitch for a cause he believes in.

Any suggestions?

The Pain was Excruciating

Sometimes I participate in a writing challenge hosted by Jenny Matlock at Off on a Tangent. Jenny provides a prompt and sometimes a style of writing, and we are challenged to use the prompt in a post, generally of no more than 100 words plus the prompt. This week's prompt was:

The pain was excruciating...

I wanted to do something a bit different. I wanted to stay away from writing something about physical pain. Then, I thought about my father. I see my dad suffer when he knows he used to be able to do something, and has lost the capacity to recall how to do it now. The pain must be excruciating!

The old man sat hunched over his desk, swallowed by the worn sweater wrapped around his barrel chest. He stared at the computer screen in front of him, with rheumy eyes, a tear escaping and rolling down the leathery skin of his cheek. The mouse in his gnarled hand felt comforting, but images on the screen brought deep despair. He remembered that he used to work this computer. He used to know how to find things on the computer. He knew much of his life was inside the machine, but he was damned if he could get to it now. The pain was excruciating.

Visit Jenny's blog to read more responses to her Saturday Centus prompt:

Whose Job Is It?

In my last post I talked about Dad's obsession with working. Things are changing, perhaps, just a bit. Today I got a call from Dad asking if I could come over and help him. He said he just couldn't make heads or tails of the 'stuff' on his desk and he had some notes he had made that he couldn't figure out. I headed over to his place and we began going through the pile piece by piece. The first few items were mailings from charitable organizations asking for donations. Dad and I had talked about each one on the phone the night before. I have access to his bank account online, so I was able to see that he had already given each organization a donation this year. I told him to shred the document. He didn't want to because he wanted to hang on to the forms so he could make a donation to the organization next year. I told him that I was sure the folks would send another mailing in the new year. I told him to at least write that he had contributed to the organization. I gave him the date and the amount. Evidently Dad didn't remember our conversation from the night before. I went over the information with him again, and this time we did shred or throw away the donation forms.

From there we moved to a discussion about taxes. Dad wanted to put together some things, like copies of checks he had sent to charitable organizations, to send to his accountant for tax purposes. I suggested that we collect those items and send everything at year end. I did meet some resistance, but Dad finally relented and allowed me to set up a file for him to put tax documents in as he found them or as they arrived in the mail. Do you want to take bets on whether the accountant gets some things mailed to him in the next few days?!

Then Dad asked me about an email that was open on his computer. The email was from early August and the information it contained was 'water under the bridge'. Dad kept asking, "Are you sure?" Even though action had been taken on the email in August, he didn't recall that and thought he might need to do something with it now. We sifted through his inbox and I helped him delete junk, move important emails to folders and clear out the inbox. Again, I have access to his email online, so I do try to run interference from home, clearing out things that aren't important, but somehow had missed these few items. 

Dad had some questions about his Address Book on the computer. And as I was helping him sort through things he asked, "How do you know how to do all of these things?" That was such a bittersweet question as Dad used to know how to manage his email, his address book and more. 

Finally, Dad looked at me and asked if I could come and help him like this every week. He said he was just getting into a big 'mess' with everything and couldn't deal with it. Awwww, Dad, you are breaking my heart! Of course I'll help you! Today I am taking an 'in' box over to place on his desk. That will (hopefully) become the place that Dad can put things when he isn't sure what to do with them. This will become my work and I gladly accept the new assignment!

Gotta Have A Job to Do

Dad is always busy. Whenever I suggest that he go to a meeting at his community, or go with me to see some interesting event in town, he tells me he has too much to do. He says he is too busy. Husband and I sometimes shake our heads in wonderment - just what does Dad have to do?

Dad takes his 'job' very seriously. He sits at his desk for hours every day. After all, this is what he did when he worked, and work is a defining characteristic of his being. He sifts through papers. And sifts through them again. He opens old emails and clicks on things that show up on his computer screen, opening documents or navigating to sites on the Internet. He pulls files out of the cabinet and reads through papers, many of which were filed over a decade ago.

When Dad is 'working' he will often call me with a concern, based on what he has found. Today he was questioning a 'discrepancy' he noted in the sale of his condominium. Dad noted that the bottom line of the sales document showed a refund of several thousand dollars. He wanted to know if he had to pay that amount. Dad didn't sell his condo; I asked Dad to tell me the date of the sales contract. He noted that it was written on 2/15/08. I often get the feeling that Dad doesn't recognize the significance of dates any longer. He seems to consider everything as current. I suggested that the document must have been generated when Dad bought the condo, four years ago. After a discussion of why there might have been a refund due, and how that was probably handled, Dad seemed to accept that this transaction was complete.

I often wish that Dad would turn the computer off and get away from his desk. I wish he would sit down and read, or watch TV, or go for a walk. But, then, I have to think that Dad is happiest when he is working.

Best Blog - Are You Kidding?!

Hello?

Is anyone out there?

Sometimes when I post something on either of my blogs I wonder if anyone actually reads what I have written.  I am pretty quiet about this blog. I don't post very often - probably not often enough. There are so many good stories about times I have with Dad. Then there are the times I am so frustrated my eyes start to go buggy and I want to rip my hair out. But, I'll save that for another post.

Imagine my surprise when I received an email from a Tracy Rose at healthline.com, saying by blog was selected by editors as one of their 25 favorite blogs about Alzheimer's disease. My first reaction was to laugh it off as some sort of junk email, or some sort of scam. Then I checked and that web site does exist... and they did pick and list 25 blogs and yes, mine was there, along with some other blogs on the subject that I enjoy reading.

They even said the nicest things about my blog! 

I was so pleased, and surprised...

Keeping a sense of humor about the good, bad, and ugly of Alzheimer’s is no easy task. Thankfully, blogs like Driving My Dad remind caregivers of the beauty that life can still hold for everyone touched by Alzheimer’s and dementias.

If you need a quick refresher, pick-me-up, or lifeline, then Driving My Dad is the place for you. Stop by for poems, upbeat reflections on life caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s, or whatever it is you need – you are sure to find it here. Drive on, dear blogger, drive on – your readers are counting on you for a steady supply of Alzheimer’s inspiration!

So... I guess I better get the car in gear, and.... drive on!

I need to share those stories. 

They may soothe someone.

They may inspire someone.

They certainly may ease my frustrations.

Thank you, Editors, I appreciate what you are doing
to provide information to readers on all health topics.

Who's On First?

Lesson learned. Talk to Dad about one thing, and one thing only. If I have two things to discuss, wait and talk to him about the second thing later!
Today we talked about his lawyer, Frank. We also talked about his new tenant, Don. By the end of the conversation we sounded like a remake of the Abbott and Costello piece, "Who's on First?" It was confusing, for both of us!

I haven't listened to this piece for years. 

It's brilliant, simply brilliant!

Important

This week Dad called me about a two-page document he had. It came from his broker and described changes in his IRA. The word, "IMPORTANT" was prominently displayed in capital letters across the top of the document. Dad was a bit concerned about the paper and asked what he needed to do. I told him that it was probably documentation that new banking regulations require brokers to send out. I asked Dad what date was on the document. He looked around and finally found the date, April 10, 2010. Then he immediately asked, again, what he should do with it. He asked if he should send it to his financial advisor. I tried to explain that the document actually came from the company where his financial advisor works, and that, since it was over two years old, he didn't need to do a thing with the paper except throw it away. Dad could not grasp that. He kept asking about sending it to this financial advisor. He couldn't, or wouldn't, understand that the information was old information, had been sent as an "FYI" and that nothing needed to be done about it. We left it with Dad putting the document in a folder for me to look at the next time I'm at his apartment.  It seems that Dad could not understand that the document was two years old, and thus the information was 'old news'. He kept getting hung up on the word, "Important" and felt he must 'do' something with the information.

My Dad is Back in Town

Dad's back from his cruise. He was gone 4 months. Wow! That's a long time.
It seemed to take him a week or two to settle back into things at home.
At first he seemed more forgetful than before he left, but that seemed to go away as he became more rested.
Although I've gone out to dinner with Dad and his girl, we didn't talk too much about the cruise. Dad has been more 'in the moment' as far as our conversation goes than recalling his adventures.
He has asked that I help him download pictures from his camera. Maybe that will open up avenues for discussion about his trip.