Seeing Dad.

Lately...I've been seeing my Dad, everywhere I go. It's very strange. I'll be walking along, or in a store, or getting into my car, and I'll see someone, usually from behind, and I'll instantly think, "That's Dad!" And, of course, my rational brain then kicks in and I realize that my Dad absolutely could not be out and about downtown Ballard, for example, and that he is, in fact, probably snoozing in his chair at his home. And it's not always even men! I glimpsed a woman and my tricky mind saw something about my dad and thought, again, "Dad!"

I don't know what, exactly, is going on in my mind. When I look more closely at these people, I see that they don't look anything like my father-but there is some feature, some expression, some physical aspect, that instantly reminds me of him-and I think I see him. Sometimes it's height, or a lanky frame. Sometimes its a glimpse of big, bony, capable hands. I've seen him in a man wearing chunky brown glasses or a flannel shirt. Sometimes its just a thick, gray-white head of hair. I see my Dad in many people these days.

As to why it's happening more and more? When I visit Dad now, I see him get more and more frail. He's slipping away from me bit by bit, and the process seems to be accelerating a lot lately. My dad and I did not always see eye to eye, nor did we always have the best relationship when he was lucid. He's been sick a long time, and it's become a normal state of affairs; but now that he's getting worse, I'm starting to see the cold grip of mortality around him, and I'm already starting to miss him. Does this happen to anyone else? I wish I knew.

So I think that's why I'm seeing my Dad so many places he couldn't possibly be. I think my heart just really wants to see him, active and out in the world again, instead of slowly slipping out of it.

Elders..

I've been busy, or out of town a lot due to wedding activities and haven't had much time to write. It's been interesting to continue to experience this life-changing event without any parents or much family. I visited my Dad right before I left for my wedding just so I could tell him again what was happening and feel that connection to someone who knew me from the beginning, even if he couldn't comprehend what I was saying now. I've been meaning to visit now that we've got our wedding pictures to show him, but haven't yet had the time. I have not been completely without the blessing of my elders, as I experienced on a recent trip to my husband's family.

His mother was kind enough to throw us a party so that everyone, family and friends, who hadn't attended the wedding(which was tiny and private!) could celebrate us. The party was full of people I didn't know and had never met and I was a little apprehensive going in. These were people who had known my husband and his family for thirty or forty years, and I was definitely being submitted for their approval! The overwhelming feeling, though, was that of the elder generation recognizing and welcoming someone into the clan, and that was a really lovely feeling, and one I don't experience anymore in my own family.

My father is the only elder left in my social and family sphere, and he's not present. Plus, my parents didn't really have many friends, so there wasn't that important older social group for me to fall back on. I've been on my own for this. I missed my father, and definitely wish he could have been present during this joyous event for me, but barring his ability to be present for it, I have to say how nice it was to get a little taste of that elder generation, even from people I had never met.

Being.

I recently was fortunate enough to meet another volunteer with my respite program, a lovely woman who had a caring and calm way about her. She had just started in the program and had not yet had much contact with dementia-sufferers, nor did I sense that it had impacted her family life. After our getting-to-know-you chat, we began discussing my experiences, my book, and my father. She explained that her present client had dementia and since she didn't have much experience, she wanted to pick my brain on how best to serve her client.

I inquired how impaired her client was; how far her client had traveled down the dark road of dementia. Apparently, the client was largely withdrawn, but would occasionally interact a little bit with my new friend. The volunteer said that she had tried very hard to be there for her new client, bringing poetry, books, and the newspaper to read out loud. She would talk and tell stories to her client but said after a while it felt like she was just talking to herself, which made us both laugh. It reminded me of the visits I've had with my Father in the last year or two, where I talk and tell stories and he only occasionally interacts with a few standard phrases. Those of us who are close to dementia know how this feels!

I told her that just her presence was a gift for this client. I've seen so often how the elderly or the dementia-afflicted are left alone in their small rooms or in activity spaces while the action of the facility happens around them. By what she said, it sounded like the family was more involved than most, but I told her that reading to her client, whether its poetry or a magazine or even the Bible, bringing music in to listen to, even just talking about her own life was a way to interact with the client, to be in her world a little. I told her that just sitting quietly with her client, like I do so often with Dad, was a way to be present, a way to share herself. I suggested that she try just sitting after a spell of reading or talking.

She looked like the idea hadn't occurred to her, the idea that just her very presence could be a way of interaction, a way of giving. I know that Dad feels me there and feels my love for him, even though no words are being exchanged and I told my friend how lovely that can feel for herself and her client. I could tell that this woman was a gift to all of her clients; just her desire to do her best for her client and educate herself showed her heart. Just be there. Be there for your loved one or your client or your friend. Just be.

Holiday Time.

Well, we're coming up on the holidays again-I can't believe the end of the year is here again already! As always, it makes me think back to all the very different times I've spent with my family since becoming an adult. There have been good experiences and poor experiences-and even some very bad experiences, but I guess the important thing is...I'm still having experiences. Dad, of course, is not.

Dad used to really enjoy the holidays, especially when we were little. I think that Christmas was a very important time for him, deep down. Although there are many things I don't know about how he felt or thought, I do feel this, and I have reason to believe that all the events on the year's calendar were as important to him as to anyone else. He always seemed a little more loose and happy during these last months of the year.

After years and years of being the one who made the holidays happen for my family, I finally called a halt and decided to make the holidays for myself, and for my now-husband. It's exhausting, as so many caregivers (and many women!) know, to create these huge special experiences for family. It gets even harder when one has a chronic health condition. I know that, when he was able, Dad appreciated my efforts to make the holidays special, and that's all that's really important.

He really has no more concept of time or seasons passing, at least as far as I know, and will spend those particular days like every other day in his house. He has stepped off the wheel of shared experiences that make us a society, and I have to respect that.

I doubt I will spend time with him on the actual days, although I definitely will in the weeks before and after. It seems to me that there's nothing about those particular days that will matter any more than another; if I were to make a big deal about them, it would be more about my comfort than his. I'm just going to keep it low-key again this year, as I've discovered works the best for my little family. But I'm also aware that another year has wheeled slowly by without Dad, who will never have the fun of experiencing the holidays again.

Visiting Before the Wedding.

We'll be leaving in the next few days for our wedding, and I felt a need to visit with the one parent I have left, even though he's no longer really present in the world. When I got to his home, he was snoozing in his chair, so I sat with him for a bit, quietly. I noticed that his face seemed even more pale, his eyes a little sunken, with dark circles. It was almost, but not quite, as if I could see his skull through his skin. He just looked more frail in general, and I wonder if he'll make it through the coming winter.

When he woke up, I knelt by his chair and looked him in the face. He seemed a little startled at first, and once again, I was pretty sure he didn't know who I was. It was nice to kneel there and talk to him while he watched my face, his eyes wandering periodically to stare down the hallway. On the whole, he seemed pretty alert, even responding to a few things I said with a, "Oh, that's good.", or, "That's nice". I think these have become stock phrases for him when he senses people might want a response, although I'm fairly certain he hasn't understood what's been said to him.

I told him about the wedding and my fiance, about our classic car, which had recently thrown a belt, about the weather and life in general. I promised we would visit him when we got back and bring him wedding pictures to see. It was just nice to see his blue eyes somewhat engaged again, his face even a little bit animated. It was almost like having a conversation! But most of all, it just felt right to spend some time with my Father before my wedding; to be with him. There is no more wisdom he can impart, no fatherly advice or counsel, but he's still my Dad, and it was nice to get even a semblance of a blessing for an event so important-an event that he'll never know took place.

Expanding and Contracting.

I've started writing down a few of the ideas I want to incorporate into my second book. the story definitely didn't end several years ago when the house was sold and Dad was settled into Assisted Living. As seems to be normal with my family, many more strange and interesting things have occurred, and will probably keep occurring until Dad sloughs off this mortal coil. My life is inextricably tied up with his, and will be until the end.

I've really been thinking about expanding and contracting as the main theme of my writing. Since the events of the book and after, my life has continued to expand and expand in the most wonderful ways. Granted, not all of them have been easy-continuing to learn how to care for and deal with a parent with dementia has not been fun, but it has been life-expanding. Meeting my fiance has expanded my life in exponential ways-he's brought me the world in a way I never expected I'd have it. But with all of this expansion and growth, I can't help but see my Dad's life continue to contract.

We had to move him from quite a large facility, to a five-patient Adult Family Home. This has been a really healthy move for him, but it did entail slimming his life and possessions down even more. My Dad now owns pretty much what's in his room. He doesn't work, of course, or do any of the activities he used to do-he doesn't really go out much, and his main visitor is me and I can't be there every week. Dad's life has shrunk down to his room, house, and caregiver, and that's just how it needs to be.

I feel sorry for the fact that Dad contracted this terrible disease that's done nothing but shrink him and his life-that's why I'm committed to giving him the best life I can. And I'm grateful that my life has continued to grow and change, largely based upon the foundation of everything I risked and learned taking care of him.

Doubts.

I made the thirty minute drive the other day to pay a visit to Dad. It was a hot and beautiful day, one of the few we've gotten here, and I figured I'd probably find him outside on the patio of his house. I parked my car, seeing only another resident in his wheelchair, reading in the shade of a tree. When I walked into the house, I saw my Dad, reclining on the couch with his eyes closed. A young man who introduced himself as the son of the owner introduced himself.

I sat next to Dad, who opened his eyes and looked at me sideways, wary and curious as to what I wanted. Looking into his blue eyes, curious as always as to what sort of recognition, if any, I would see there, I started talking to him, mentioning the heat and the lovely sun. The young man leaned over and said that until a few minutes ago, Dad had been outside walking around and enjoying the sun and that they had just come in for a little rest. This sounded perfectly reasonable, but my constant doubts raised their heads.

The last time I visited, Dad had been snoozing in his room in his recliner. I had seen him at other times, drowsing on the couch or in his chair. Could I really trust them to be doing what was best for Dad and making him walk and exercise? When you finally decide you need to give over care of your loved one to someone else, even if you find a caregiver you think is the most capable and trustworthy, I've found you never really stop being suspicious. You never completely trust that they will treat your loved one well, and not leave them stranded like so many horror stories that make the rounds.

I'm pretty sure I've found the absolute best place possible for Dad. I believe that they care for my Father. The home has great state reviews and inspections, and I stop in unannounced as often as I can. The worst thing I've ever seen is Dad snoozing inside on a sunny day. But I am never, ever free of these quiet doubt whispers, and I figure I never will be. It is the price I pay for not taking care of Dad personally.