I'm NOT Your Dad

Sunday was Father’s Day. I put all of his gifts into a large gift bag; a new flag for the front yard (his is still good but living at the beach, they don’t last long), a 6 pack of undershirts (I threw all the old ones away the night before), his favorite cookies, imported chocolates and a collage of photographs of Mom. His delight was obvious as he pulled each item out. When he was finished, he put everything back in the bag and set it on the floor next to his chair. He was cheerful and relatively lucid and stayed that way most of the day.

Every hour or so after that, he would “discover” his gift bag and “open his gifts”. He spent the afternoon telling me what a wonderful birthday he was having and thanking me for everything. Finally, I decided we would try something a bit different. The next time he “opened” his gifts, I suggested we put the pictures of Mom on the coffee table where he could see it. He loved the idea and I spent many minutes placing it exactly where and how he wanted it on the table. The next time he “opened” his gifts I made a big deal over his undershirts, opened the package and folded them as he continued to dig through his bag. When he was done, I took the undershirts to his room and put them away. This little game continued until dinner was ready and the bag was finally empty.

At dinner, he was starting to show the signs of Sundowner’s but only slightly. By the time dessert rolled around he was still cognizant enough to ask if he was getting birthday cake to go with his ice cream. I laughed and told him between the cookies and chocolates he’d eaten all afternoon I thought he had probably had enough sweets for the day. For the first time in a very long time, we honestly had a good day. While he may not remember it, he gave me a Father’s Day to remember and cherish.



Monday morning was a totally different story. Dad didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed he woke up on the wrong side of Alzheimer’s. From the instant he stepped into the room, it was obvious we were going to have a rough morning. DeeAnn, The Shower Lady, was coming shortly so there wasn’t enough time to eat breakfast. I made him a piece of toast and a glass of water so he could take his meds. He wanted cereal and became quite petulant when I explained repeatedly that he could have anything he wanted AFTER his shower.
“I don’t want to wait. I want cereal now and if you don’t get it for me you can find yourself another job!”

Exasperated, I retreated to the kitchen. As soon as I turned the water on to wash a couple of dishes, he demanded I “come here right now. I’m talking to you!” Turning the water off, I looked back to him, “Yes, Dad?”
“I’M NOT YOUR DAD!” he shouted. “I have had it with you being impertinent. You can call me Bill. On second thought, you need to get your things together and GET OUT! This is my G*#d%mn house and I’m tired of you telling me what to do. YOU…ARE…FIRED!”
I took a deep breath as my hands gripped the counter until my knuckles turned white. I faced him across the bar and said, “I know this is your house, but you can’t fire me because I don’t work for you. You have been my Dad for the last 31 years so I am going to continue to call you Dad.”

Shaking with barely suppressed fury, he came around the counter. “Get the hell out of my house. I don’t want you here. You don’t do anything for me and I don’t want you to. You are fired, fired, fired!”
“You can’t fire me because I don’t work for you!”
“Oh sure, you work here for free. I’m supposed to believe that? If you are working here for free then you have something very wrong with you. Nobody works for free. Who do you work for? Give me their number so I can call them and have them fire you.”
My voice dropped to a dangerously low level, “Dad, I don’t work here. I am your daughter-in-law and I have lived here for 3 years and taken care of you. Nobody can fire me because we are in this together and we are going to be until the very end.”

Frustrated, he sat down and finally ate his toast and took his medications. I was so relieved when DeeAnn arrived just so I could walk away. As soon as she left, the nurse, Stephanie, arrived. It was obvious to her that Dad was not having a good morning. He snapped at everything I said until she finally called him out on it and asked him to be nice to me. She also explained that there are certain questions she has to ask me because I am the only person who knows the answers. Bless her heart, she really tried to get him off my back but he was there to stay.

By the time noon rolled around, I had been told to shut the f*ck up 3 times and I had been fired 4. Needless to say it was a rough morning for everybody. By the end of the day, I managed to get 6, “I’m not your Dad’s” before I got one single, “I love you, Sweetheart.” You can’t begin to imagine how grateful I was to go to work… or how much I worried about him after I left…