Sundowning

Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile

Virgil

Daddy has started falling asleep a lot during the day. His body is exhausted; it is obvious that it is preparing for "The Big Sleep".

This is referred to as "sundowning", and it is common in Alzheimer's patients. This page from the Alzheimer's Association explains it clearly and concisely: Sundowning

It is so distressing to see him sleep in his chair for hours on end, his body slumped into contortions. When we wake him up, he responds for a moment, but literally falls right back to sleep. When Mom persists in waking him, he gets quite cantankerous with her. Last night he was downright nasty when she tried to get him to go to bed early.

He is still waking up quite a bit during the night, generally 2-3 times every night. Of course Mom wakes up with him, and frequently has to go downstairs to get him back to bed. He tends to be very disoriented during these midnight wanderings, but he is also generally quite compliant about returning to bed. Knowing that these things are symptomatic of the disease doesn't make it any easier to cope with. Some days the sadness of it all is enough to break your heart into a million shards of glass.

Welcome Home

Where thou art, that, is Home.

Emily Dickenson

Mom was hospitalized for several days recently.While we were all frantic, Daddy was even more distressed. To add to the mix, he naturally couldn't remember where she was, why, or when she was coming home. He exhibited some of the Alzheimer's suspiciousness, questioning us and demanding that one of us "tell the truth about where Mom is". We did our best to comfort him, and keep his routines as normal as possible, but he was absolutely and completely a rudderless ship without her.

When she finally got home, Daddy's face lit up like a Christmas tree. His smile was one of total joy as he raised his arms for a hug and kiss. He said something along the lines of "I haven't seen you in so long, and I missed you so much!" She hugged and kissed him and they exchanged "I love yous". It was so beautiful, so tender, so wonderful to witness. Through it all, love is a beautiful thing.

You must remember this

A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh

The fundamental things apply
As time goes by
Louis Armstrong

Mom hasn't been well recently. No one is quite certain what is wrong, but she is, most definitely, in poor health. She is not a person who complains about physical ailments; she never was. Daddy has been fretting about her, and has obviously been unable to do anything to help her.

The other day she was sitting on the couch, resting, her head back and eyes closed. Daddy came into the den from the kitchen. He now walks slowly and painfully, his left leg virtually useless from spinal stenosis and subsequent neuropathy. Of course, he doesn't use his walker properly, because he can't remember instructions.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, and watched my mother with a worried expression on his face. He crossed the room, and made his way over towards where she was sitting. When she realized that he wasn't going to sit in his chair, as he normally would, she sat up and asked him what he was doing. As he was trying to bend down to reach her, he replied, "I just wanted to give you a kiss". She rose up to meet him, and they shared a long embrace and several kisses, and she told him that she loves him. He answered that he loves her, too, and held her as closely as he could.

Thank God, Alzheimer's hasn't defeated the love they have shared for 60 years.

Where Does the Lone Ranger Take His Garbage?

To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump!

"Back in the day" we didn't have garbage pick-up at our summer home. Daddy would have to load the garbage cans (along with various kids) into the back of the station wagon, and bring it to the dump. As bizarre as it sounds, we actually considered a trip to the dump a fun thing. Much to Mommy's dismay, none of us - Daddy included - ever returned empty-handed. Other people's junk was always cool, and we always managed to find a "treasure" discarded by another family. Of course, the reality is that junk is junk, and a skateboard with 3 wheels or a broken umbrella is honestly and truthfully junk. We never saw it that way. We would drag home these discoveries, only to have them mysteriously vanish as quickly as they had appeared. Of course, there was always the next week and the next trip to the dump..........

These days, the town has a "designer" dump. Excuse me, it's a "landfill" now, and all garbage must be in special yellow bags. Everything has to be separated; everything has to be sorted. I understand that ecologically this is sound practice, but it sure as hell has taken the fun out of garbage.

The Annual Picnic

Play is the exultation of the possible.
Martin Buber

During the summer, we lived in a small community, in a rural area, about a block from the beach. Every year, Daddy would round up all the members of the local property owners association, and plan a big picnic/barbecue. I don't remember much about the food, although I do recall the men all grilling (burgers and dogs is my guess) What I remember most is the races. We had potato sack races, wheelbarrow races, three legged races.......and probably many more, including speed races. There were prizes, although I have no clue as to what they were. I just remember spending the day playing in the park. That park is on the top of the bluff, overlooking our beach and the beautiful bay. All our friends and family were there every year, and it was always one of the biggest events of our summer. And of course, like most memorable things in my life, Daddy was right there at the center of it all.

Today was a beautiful autumn day. The sky was that bright blue you see best in October, and the air was warm, with only a hint of a breeze. Mom & I loaded Daddy into the car, and we drove back to that park. It was hard for him to get to the park benches where we wanted to sit; he had trouble maneuvering his walker on the grass. He persevered, with Mom & I on either side, helping him. We sat there for about an hour, watching a few sailboats gliding effortlessly across the water. We saw a school of bait fish swim through, frantically trying to escape from the bluefish that were right behind them. We watched as a a few terns and seagulls tried to catch supper.

We talked about those picnics today, and reminisced quite a bit. How much Daddy really recalls is sometimes hard to say. He wants to participate, so he does his best. Mostly, though, we just sat and enjoyed the day. It exhausted him (and us, as well!) but it was wonderful. I loved seeing him out and enjoying himself, even if only for a little while.

Saturday Lunch

We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink.

Epicurus

One of the constants in our childhood was always eating meals together. It was probably the only time we were all in the same place at the same time. Dinner was #1 on the "be there or else" list, but lunch on Saturday was close behind.

It was never a fancy meal, just sandwiches. Very often one or more of our friends joined us. There was lots of talking, and teasing, and laughing, and arguing. There were many times that I was frustrated at having to sit at the table with everyone else (and ask to be 'excused' when finished) but as an adult I long ago realized the value of family meals, and the bonds they strengthened. I know that eating at our house had a positive influence on other kids as well. Our parents didn't just love and teach us, they reached out to any child who came along.

Lost

Life is about not knowing, having to change,
taking the moment and making the best of it,
without knowing what's going to happen next.
Gilda Radner

Daddy gets lost sometimes. Not just in the metaphysical sense, but honestly and truly lost, where he doesn't know where he is, how he got there, or where he is going.

The other day he got lost in the kitchen. He had been in the bathroom, and was trying to find his way into the den, where Mom & I were. It is a straight walk from the bathroom, through the kitchen, and into the den. He lost his way, and ended up in a corner of the kitchen, between the stove, sink, and island. I had to call him, and remind him where we were.

He also gets very lost late at night. He wakes from his sleep, and doesn't know where he is, or who is there with him. He often is not even sure that he is in his own house. My sisters and I have all been up with him late at night. I'm not sure that he even knows who we are at those times, but we all call him "Dad", and he responds to the name. He always knows our mother, thankfully, and calls for her. Fortunately, he is very compliant these days, and we can get him back to bed fairly easily. Some nights he's awake and up a great many times, some nights only a few. Some nights he wakes up and gets himself dressed, thinking it's morning.

Nights are so difficult for us. I find that even when I am not sleeping in my parents house, I lay awake thinking about them both, worrying and mourning. We all do.

Alzheimer's has robbed our entire family of sleep and rest. It is always with us, a dark cloud hovering, ready to explode into a storm at any given moment.

One of Ours?

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane!

I was sitting on the deck with Daddy the other day. It was a perfect autumn afternoon: the air was crisp and clean, the sky was blue, and we were there together in the sunshine.

We heard a plane overhead, and we automatically looked at each other and smiled. He pointed to the sky and said, "Don't worry, it's one of ours".

This has been a running joke for as long as I can remember. I've mentioned before that Daddy was a pilot in the Naval Air Corps during WWII, and fought in the Pacific theater. Well, when we were kids, any time a plane flew overhead, he'd jokingly tell us to check it out and make sure it wasn't a Japanese bomber overhead. We'd all look, every time, and every time we laughed together at the silliness of the joke.

I laughed with him again the other day. It was wonderful.

Speaking of Movies...

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.
J.M. Barrie

When we were kids, Daddy would take home movies of us for all occasions: Christmas, birthdays, Communions, Confirmations, graduations, vacations, whatever came along in our lives that he felt needed documentation. These were days of 8mm cameras, and the developed films were on small reels. At some point, Grandpa had helped him slice a few small reels together into larger ones, but mostly they were all these short movies that would only run a few minutes.

If we begged and cajoled him on a Sunday night, we could get Daddy to set up the huge old movie projector in the living room. He had a collapsible screen that would be at one end of the room, Dad and the projector at the other end, movies piled high next to him. We would all be squirming and fooling around until a movie came on the screen. We would laugh and talk and make jokes. As quickly as they came on, the movies were over, and Daddy would have to rewind the film, and load another into the projector. He would do this over and over and over, until Mom would finally tell us it was time for bed. It seemed like we could never get enough, and we always pleaded (in vain) for "just one more".

We are blessed to have had such a patient, loving father who would readily sacrifice himself and his own comfort to amuse and entertain his children.

Disappearing Dimes & Flipping Ears

I don’t want realism. I want magic!

Tennessee Williams

The other day I remembered something that Daddy used to do that awed and amazed every child who ever witnessed a performance of "The Disappearing Dime".

Daddy would sit with his left arm on the table, and his left hand next to his head. He would take a dime, and with much fanfare, press it against his inner forearm, twisting it, grunting a little, and so on. It would drop a few times, and he'd pick it up and try again. Eventually, with a great flourish, the dime would appear in his ear! No single performance was ever enough for any kid. Daddy would do it over and over again, letting us all try it for ourselves. The more we failed to be able to push a dime through our arms and into our ears, the more awed we were. I enjoyed the magic even more as an adult when I watched Daddy mystify my nephew with the trick.

I was reminded of this the other day. My older sister and I had been having breakfast with my parents, and Daddy did another one his famous routines for us, just out of the clear blue sky. We had finished eating, and Mom was upstairs getting dressed.I had handed Daddy his morning medications, which he dutifully popped into his mouth. As he took a sip of water to swallow the pills, he reached up and kind of flipped his ear over at us, pretending that his ear was the a handle he had to twist to swallow. He had a huge grin on his face, and my sister and I roared with laughter. He used to do that for us all the time when we were kids. Our laughter prompted him to give us the variation we also remembered: he twisted his ear and stuck out his tongue at the same time! None of us could stop laughing. Mom came down to see what was so funny, and he did it for her, making her laugh out loud, too.

It was such a great moment in time; it was as if nothing at all had changed, and we were still little girls whose Daddy loved to make them laugh. Another precious memory to store away and cherish.