Dad is nearly ninety years old now. We're planning on a birthday party for him in late August. The entire family is planning to be there to celebrate the gift of our father. The question, though, is how much will Dad be able to take part. You see, my father has Alzheimer's, among the cruelest of diseases - not so much for the person with the disease, but those who are helpless to keep their loved one from fading away. Dad is frustrated with his declining memory. He is fearful of new people and activities. He does not want to leave the security of his home, and his body is suffering from old age, disuse and poor hygiene. He retreats from his fears and frustration in bed, where he wraps himself in sleep. With the gentle, sacrificial care of my sister, he remains in his own home. He goes out only to doctor's visits and Church.
Dad seems happy in his memories, most of which are from World War II. He knows us, his children and grandchildren, although his grandchildren are frozen in his memory as teenagers. He struggles to remember his great-granddaughters. He introduces my husband to my brother, though we have been married for over forty years. Dad has grown more gentle. Previously a gruff, opinionated man with a tender heart, he has softened, though the stubbornness born of a life of self-sufficiency and determination does not allow him to accept help from "outsiders."
There is nothing to be done but wait. We all wait now to see what another day will bring. Anything that upsets his routine has the potential of pushing him to the next level of Alzheimer's. He lives a delicate balance of the present, where the rest of us abide, and the past where he dwelt in his strongest emotional ties, World War II, the Great Depression, building a marriage and family. Those times that were stressful and took much determination and commitment appear to have the most prominent place in his memories. He remembers the early years of their marriage, but has difficulty remembering how or when he met my Mother. He remembers fondly the men he trained while in the Air Force, and the tricks they played upon one another; but cannot recall hearing from any of them following the War. He remembers delivering telegrams and leaving school to help support his family. We have learned much from the memories Dad lives now. We have gained insight into his early life he was hesitant to share before. When we contemplated getting a puppy, Dad recalled a dog from his childhood I had not heard of previously. The dog was aggressive and Dad warned about the breed.
Perhaps the most touching and telling of all the memories Dad still retains is that of his faith. Following my Mother's death, he nearly lost himself in grief. He found his way out by giving of himself, time and talents, to others. He found joy in providing rides to those in need of them, visiting the sick and those who were shut in. His priest encouraged Dad to become a Deacon in his church, which would take three years of training to accomplish. Dad declined, saying he did not want to commit three years if he might not live that long (that was twenty years ago). He, instead became a Lay Minister in the church and the visits, rides and giving became an integral part of his life. During the training, his eyes were opened to the wonders of the Bible and he found a deeper, stronger faith than he knew imaginable. He learned every part of the Mass, including the priest's portions. He found a joy beyond any he had known in service to the Lord.
We have attended Mass with Dad since he has lost so many memories. Sitting next to him, I hear him quietly recite each word of the service, each part done with reverence and peace. I take great comfort in the knowledge that whatever else my Father loses, even his memory of me as his daughter, he will never lose his closeness to the Lord he served so happily the final years of his life.
I look forward to the birthday celebration. The entire family will be present, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We do not know how clear his relationship with many of us will be, but we will be united in our gratefulness for the years we have had. Memories do come and go. Some fade with age, some with disease, but all will be clear again someday. When we meet again before the Lord, our eyes will see clearly, our minds will be sharp and our memories will be glorious to recall.
