Memory Walk

It was a regular occurrence for my father, beginning in his mid 60's, to sit down with a group at the break room of his business and entertain us with one of his wonderful stories. We began to worry when dad would repeat a story several minutes later. Often we could head it off at the pass but if he got going we would enjoy the tale once again. After all, the best part for us was never the story itself. It was sharing the enjoyment Bill had in telling it. Some days we would enjoy the same story several times.

My father had a disease that would be identified after he died in his 80's as “being consistent with Alzheimer's.” Seems you need to have an autopsy to tell for sure. Bill did have a buildup of plaques and tangles in his brain, things that inhibit the flow of chemical and electric processes and which are associated with Alzheimer's but the buildup was not as severe as in a classic case. He had undergone multiple traumas to his head playing football and crash landing several planes during WWII and maybe that also had something to do with it. There are various types of dementia and today the public tends to call them all the A word.

The progression of the disease for my father was slow and until very close to the end he managed to maintain his positive attitude and sense of humor, despite his physical and mental difficulties. This is rare for those with Alzheimer's. Would Bill get upset at things? You bet, but then throughout his entire life he had a short fuse, would blow sky high and then would be perfectly fine. No continuing anger, no resentments, he said his peace and let's go on. We might be walking on egg shells for awhile, but not dad.

Before this all flared up Bill got a personalized front license plate for his Mercedes that read; “SOB”. He would love it when people would ask what it meant. “Well, that's just me, sweet old Bill”. Dad would get himself a good laugh when he invariable got the same reply - “Um, I'm not sure that's what that really means.”

He would often tell me in his early years of understanding what he had; “Bob, you know the best thing about having Alzheimer's? You meet new people everyday!” My dad use to say that sometimes you just have to laugh because if you don't you will cry. I say that because Alzheimer's is rough. Mentally and physically everything reverses, mimicking the same stages as in growing. The adult becomes a child, becomes a toddler, becomes an infant and then life cannot sustain itself.

When I was in college and my dad and I would have a friendly discussion on matters such as the length of my hair he would tell me: “Right now you think I am so stupid, but just wait a few years and you will change your tune.” My dad was wrong there. I always thought he was the smartest man I ever knew and I had great respect for him; for his values, for the way he treated my mom and for what he accomplished. I loved him deeply. To go from being a child to being a parent for your parent is not easy. My dad had expressed it well when talking about his own mother who lived to be 97, the last 7 years in a nursing home. “She use to be such a proud woman. There is very little pride left in a nursing home.”

For the last 6 years of his life Bill was able to stay at a truly great place for managed care called Freedom Inn which is associated with a senior living center in Holland known as Freedom Village. My older brother and I lived in the same town and we and our families were able to visit dad quite often , as did my aunts and uncles. For a long time my brother Jet and wife Karen were able to take dad out to dinner every week. My other brother and two sisters live quite far away but they too often came to visit.

It is rare for someone to stay at Freedom Inn more than two years but Bill had years when he could ride his little electric cart, get outside accompanied by one of us or an aide and enjoy a beautiful day. As I said, his attitude remained quite positive until very near the end. The main thing that bothered him was when he would see someone being spoon fed. He just couldn't stand that.

This week Adam came to our company for a road test. He was a very rough looking character who had been in the Marines. His mother was 5'0 of pure Irish who would get you with her backhand if the front hand missed. “You never saw it coming” said Adam. His dad was a very tall man who studied furniture design at Kendal, hand made beautiful furniture and owned a construction company where Adam had worked with him and his brothers for many years. “If you couldn't handle an 80 pound board by yourself my father would say, “What's a matter. Need your Nancy skirt? Want to trade your steel toe boots for pumps?”

“At dinner he would say things like; 'Don't smack your lips. What do you think this is, a horse's trough?” I felt a connection with Adam because my dad would say the same things. I never really understood what “smacking your lips” actually meant and being afraid to ask I think I swallowed a lot of poorly chewed food. I asked Adam if he knew how the Irish in Chicago get to heaven. The answer – They get on the Dan Ryan, connect to the Kennedy, head to O'Hare and from there it's straight up.

Adam laughed and then mentioned that his father had died of Alzheimer's. When I said that my father died the same way tears began to stream down Adam's still rough looking face. After the test was over we talked some more. The disease for Adam's father had progressed very rapidly, causing death in 3 years.

Even though this was a few years ago it still was tearing him up and Adam was crying quite openly.  “This was a man who I admired more than anyone else and here he was, calling his wife 'momma.' Man, he peed on his leg! No one should have that happen. I thought, why is God punishing him? What did he do wrong? I went to see the priest a few times to talk about it but it still makes me angry.”

I tried to listen more than talk, not easy for me, and let him grieve with someone who could understand. I did tell Adam that in God's eternal clock a few years is nothing. The last three years do not define your father. Grieving is good, talking about it is good and he need not be ashamed of his tears. It turned out we had some other things in common as well but eventually my next customer came and we departed.

Few of us get to choose how we will leave this earthly plane. What we can control is coming to terms with eternity while we are here. In this case ignorance will not be bliss. It would be nice to go in the Rapture and nicer still if all of my family went with me.

I do like the option expressed in lyrics from the song ELIJAH by Rich Mullins; “When I leave I want to go out like Elijah, with a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oh1Y-eIu99Q&playnext=1&list=PLB9260972575249E3&feature=results_video

Now that's the way to go.