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The Twilight Years Are Here

The Twilight Years Are Here

Friday, April 29, 2011

Hold Onto It

April 28, 2011

I’ve said it before and I am going to say it again, “You can not reason with a demented mind. It is absolutely, positively impossible.” I promise you that any attempts to do so will result in a battle fueled by frustration for all parties concerned. No one will walk away victorious. The key is, knowing when it’s time to walk away.
Whenever possible, I try to change the subject but the level of his current fixation determines whether that will work or not. At other times, a distraction will work to sidetrack his thoughts. But if all else fails, there is simply no other choice…it’s time to walk away.
Sometimes when I retreat, I feel as if I am running away but I’ve come to understand that in reality, it can become simply a matter of my survival. When you are caring for someone you love, you have to remember to first take care of yourself. Nobody is going to do it for you, anymore than they will volunteer to take the weight off your shoulders. That’s just the way it is.
There is nothing easy when you are trying to function 24/7 with someone who has Alzheimer’s. It isn’t easy for the person living it and it isn’t easy for the person taking care of them. Hell, the bottom line is, it isn’t easy for anyone who comes in contact with it!



Dad has been more confused, more disoriented, more depressed, more uncommunicative, more apt to fall into favorite repetitive stories, and even less steady on his feet for the past few weeks. His lab work is good and he isn’t on any new meds that would be causing any more side effects than usual. His weight, Pulse Oxygen and Blood Pressure have been running consistently in very good range for him. He eats well and sleeps well. He is mentally deteriorating much faster now while he seems to have, in many ways stopped his physical deterioration.
He has been much more antagonistic than usual. He acts as if he is spoiling for an argument sometimes. I don’t know if it’s the Alzheimer’s or if he is somehow aware that Easter Sunday 2011 made it exactly 1 year since Mom died. It could easily be a combination of both or something all together different.

I can’t believe it’s been a whole year. I can picture the last 24 hrs of her life so clearly, down to the minutest details. I have often wished over this past year that I could erase parts of it. At the same time, I have prayed that I will never forget others.
Dad doesn’t have that luxury. The Alzheimer’s that plagues him is in control. It takes away as many good memories as it does the bad. Over time it changes details, people, names, dates, times, places, and events. It spins deluded, convoluted, and quite often nonsensical memories that trail in its wake.

Dad is starting to have a lot more episodes where he doesn’t recognize the family that lives locally or even in his home. Often, he becomes agitated for no apparent reason. Until recently, it was fairly easy to isolate things that disturbed him and once they were corrected to his satisfaction, he would settle down. Lately, his reasoning makes no sense so it’s virtually impossible to figure it out or to correct it.
The hardest of all is watching him becoming more delusional. Tonight at dinner, he told me an elaborate story about how he was once a weatherman. It started out that he had to learn all about weather as a pilot, “Not during the war of course because the military told you all you needed to know about the weather. It was their job to worry about it. All you had to worry about over there was doing your job and keeping your ass from getting shot down so you could go home.” I was floored when his story turned from the usual wartime memories to end up with him explaining that he was a weatherman on T.V. “for quite some time until they brought in that bald headed guy I can’t stand (Jim Cantore)”. If I had been a stranger listening to the tale he was telling, I would probably have believed him because he sounded so sure of the details. He even went so far as to say that he hasn’t liked Jim Cantore since the day he met him and knew he was going to be his replacement. “Of course, that was long before your time.” He assured me. I nodded and asked questions when it seemed he wanted me to but mostly, I just let him spin his fantasy until it played out. Sometimes, the greatest gift we can give as a caregiver is to simply listen.

At another point today, Dad wanted to know where everybody was. I explained that Melissa had taken all four of the kids home to her house. He quietly said, “I never would have thought you were that kind of woman.” Startled, I asked what he meant. He replied, “I never would have thought you were the type of woman who would give your children to somebody else to raise. I would think you would want to do it yourself.”
“Dad, three of those children are Melissa’s. Jordyn is mine. We take care of hers when she’s at work and she takes care of them and Jordyn when she isn’t. We help each other out.”
“I know that!” He interjected sharply before he shook his head sadly, “Who helps her with them? She shouldn’t have to take care of all those children by herself! That’s too much for her to do.”
“We do.” I said softly. “We help her a lot, Dad. And she helps me a lot by taking Jordyn and giving us a break from taking care of kids. I think we both need a break sometimes.”
“I love those children and I think most of them are the cutest kids I have ever seen. I want them here. They belong at home with you. Besides, she doesn’t have any help over wherever she is with them.” His agitation steadily grew, “Children should be with their mother!”
“Dad,” I quietly tried to reach him, “They are. Cameryn, Ayla and TyTy are Melissa’s children. Jordyn is mine. I am helping her raise her children and she is helping me raise mine. We are a blended family. I thank God every day that we have most of my children and grandchildren living near us but sometimes we all need a break. Melissa’s children need to be with her at their home.”
He rose from his chair and glared at me as he excused himself to go to the bathroom. On his way out of the room, he said quite clearly, “She shouldn’t have to do it alone. And if you were a good mother, you wouldn’t let her. You would be raising your own damn children.”

With tears in my eyes, I made my way downstairs. It was lost. Not a battle… not a war… but a piece of my heart. There are things about Alzheimer’s you cannot escape. There are things you cannot ignore. There are things you will never be able to forget. There are things that break your heart and attempt to shatter your very self. If you don’t have strength to draw on from the very depths of your soul, my advice to you is to get out. Put your loved ones in the hands of someone who can be detached to some degree because this a job that will breathe joy into you at times and suck it right out of you at others. I promise you this, it can be very hard to pick up the shattered pieces and go on sometimes. But if this is what you are meant to do, you will do it because it’s the only thing you can do. And if you are doing this all because you love someone then the strength you seek is already inside you. Find it… use it… hold onto it!

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