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Every Memorial Day I call up my father to thank him for serving/defending our country for 24 years while he was in the Navy. The call is usually a short one where Dad laughs and says something like, "It's Memorial Day today? I didn't know that!" We both start to laugh and then he hands the phone to Mom.
This year was a different kind of conversation. Mom answered the phone, we chatted a little, and then she told me to wish Dad a happy Memorial Day. I greeted my father as I usually do, but instead of laughter there was a pause. Thinking he didn't hear me I repeated, "Happy Memorial Day, Dad! Thank you for serving our country for twenty-four years!" His response shouldn't have come as a surprise, but the words still startled me, and woke me up to the stark reality of my father's life at 87 years old. "I don't remember that, Bea. I'm getting old and I don't remember a lot of things..." Dad has dementia. Short term memory loss for me can be frustrating, but I cannot imagine the fear my father might have felt forgetting a 24-year block of his life.
When we visited my parents in January of this year my father looked healthy and for the most part, was cognizant of our presence in their home. He would get my sons' names mixed up, but I do that often as well! There were a few moments when a look of confusion would breeze across his face. For the most part, Dad looked and acted "normal." In fact, he and Mom enjoyed reminiscing about their childhood, focusing on their stint as members of the Guerrilla forces, working with the U.S. military during World War II. Even amidst the terror of that time in their lives, both of them looked at one another tenderly when they told the kids and I about Dad proposing to Mom in the secret guerrilla compound; that was the second time he proposed to her! It was great seeing both of my parents chatting and laughing again whenever they spoke of the good ol' days! Mom even told me, "I miss talking to your father like this."
Most conversations with my father have always been short, but nowadays each word is cherished. Honestly, I fear the day when he will not remember the name of the daughter he is talking to...
When we visited my parents in January of this year my father looked healthy and for the most part, was cognizant of our presence in their home. He would get my sons' names mixed up, but I do that often as well! There were a few moments when a look of confusion would breeze across his face. For the most part, Dad looked and acted "normal." In fact, he and Mom enjoyed reminiscing about their childhood, focusing on their stint as members of the Guerrilla forces, working with the U.S. military during World War II. Even amidst the terror of that time in their lives, both of them looked at one another tenderly when they told the kids and I about Dad proposing to Mom in the secret guerrilla compound; that was the second time he proposed to her! It was great seeing both of my parents chatting and laughing again whenever they spoke of the good ol' days! Mom even told me, "I miss talking to your father like this."
Most conversations with my father have always been short, but nowadays each word is cherished. Honestly, I fear the day when he will not remember the name of the daughter he is talking to...
Your story is as beautiful as it is heartbreaking, Be a. Thank you for sharing this very intimate look inside the fallout of memory loss. My prayers are with your family and you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, my friend, for your prayers. It was liberating to write what I was feeling. Writing my thoughts down enabled me to realize the truth of Dad's situation. I didn't witness the episodes my mother told me about, but hearing him say those words was a wake-up call.
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