When I started this blog, I thought I had years of weekly lunches with my dad at Perkins.  Never in a million years did I think that within a few short months, I would have to start seeing dad live away from us.  Was I blind to how bad it is with him or am I selfish?  I don't know right now, I need to figure that out and will hopefully one day be at peace with all of this.  For now, all I can do is take it one day at a time...no one minute at a time.

So part of this blog was to help me see the good in every day.  The good in this horrible situation.  Because I honestly believe that there is a reason for everything that happens.  All though, I haven't seen a good enough reason for all of this; I trust that one day I will know and my faith tells me that God has a bigger plan.

It has been several weeks since I have felt any peace, hope, or goodness.  I have been living on coffee, adrenaline, and fear.  I didn't care about silver linings.  I was almost willing to never write again.  But today I saw a silver lining. 

I sat at a table surrounded by my family this morning.  My husband, my boys, my mom, my brother, Katy, Ella, Anna, and Charlotte.  We laughed and talked, but we all knew one piece of our family was missing.  How many tables have we sat around the last few decades+ with dad at the head of it? Too many to count.  It didn't feel right to me.  It felt to me, like we were cheating on dad.  While he was sitting alone in a nursing home, we were all together.  It didn't feel real to me.  I actually quit eating my breakfast because I was so sick to my stomach thinking about our missing link.  

I let my family out at the front door and went and parked the car.    I said a little prayer, put on my brave face...and walked in.  As the 10 of us walked through the doors, we could see dad sitting off by himself.  We all started waving at him and that wonderful smile he has lit up his whole face as he waved back.  We hugged and kissed him.  

As we all surrounded dad and listened to him tell us about his trip to the airport, how he got kicked out of his room because it was being cleaned, how he knew there was something downstairs that needed to be fixed but couldn't remember what it was, and how the ladies here should sale the strawberries for money because they would make a lot, I looked around and there we all were...together.  Silver lining.

Silent Warrior

 I am posting this over a week late.  But with understandable reason.  I won't get into much of the details right now, but dad is not doing well.  It has now been a week since the decline and there have been many changes in a very short period of time.  Changes that need time, patience, and adjustment.  Just know we are hanging in there, still trying to search for the silver linings. 

With that being said, last Tuesday, I still had my lunch date at Perkins, however, it was with my mom.  Dad was unable to come, but mom showed up for me (silver lining).  This, I will be forever grateful.  The lunch hour was filled with talk about dad, the one topic that we seem to have so much to talk about these days.  We cry, we laugh, we reminisce, and we plan.    

Mom has been the main caregiver for dad since his diagnoses.  She has seen him go from good to not so good, not so good to bad, and bad to worse in a closer and more intimate way that anyone else has.  24 hours, 7 days a week, she has been faced with the reality of what is happening to dad.  So every time she needs to get something off her chest, I am more than happy to listen.   However, I know my mom and I know that she only calls me a few times out of the hundreds of times she is hurting. I think it is because she thinks she is bothering me, but that is so far from the truth.  I have watched her face the ugliness of this disease with a brave face.  Not always, but more often than not.  

I have tried to be the glue, the glue keeping everyone together.  Reminding her and others that we will get through this, dad will be ok, and it was best to accept this trial we have been given and look for all the silver linings.  But last night, I lost it.  I am sad and angry that things have come to this stage.  I do not want dad to leave their home.  I don't want to finalize that.  As mom sat with me, she explained to me that it was time for me to accept this part of the journey.  The part of letting go of what I can't control.  I guess I thought that if dad could just stay in the home with her, that would mean we weren't giving up.  That we could always keep him safe and protected.  But as I cried, she reassured me that we are not giving up, we are just taking the next (hard) step in this journey.  

The idea of dad living else where without her, still makes me sad.  It still makes my stomach get in knots and my heart race.  When I get angry, I get silent.  Hence why this has taken longer to post. So I am taking things minute by minute.  I will just have to figure this new way of life out and figure out a new way of doing things.  And I will.  We all will.  I have a lot of support between family and friends and I know they are here for me when my glue starts to fade and lose it's strength (silver lining).

As mom and I finished up our lunch the waiter asked us if we needed anything else.  I ordered a slice of lemon meringue pie to go and handed it to mom.  I needed dad to know I didn't forget about him or the special moments we have shared the last few months.  And I need mom to know that her showing up for me meant the world!   

Coffee talk on the front porch

 At 11:30 on Tuesday morning, I was sitting at my desk finishing up some work before I was to leave for my weekly lunch date with dad.  My phone rang and it was mom.  She had said that it had been a rough night with dad as he had been up most of the night and couldn't sleep which also meant no sleep for her either.  She said he was having a rough morning and she didn't think lunch was a good idea.  

At 3:30 p.m. my phone rings and it was mom again.  She was very upset and I could hardly get out what she was trying to tell me.  I heard "911" and then the slam of the phone.  I rushed to their house where I was greeted at the door by dad.  I asked him what was going on and he just shrugged and sat down in his chair.  

I learned that he had not eaten since noon the day before.  He also had refused to take his medication.  Mom was telling me she had tried but he was being sassy and not very nice to her.  Dad is also diabetic which is a recipe for disaster with all factors combined.  I asked mom to go out back and relax and that I would talk with dad. I sat down with dad but he started talking to the men on the tv as if they were in the room with us.  I knew the longer he went without some food, the worse he would probably get.   I went to the kitchen and made him a peanut butter sandwich.  I added some chips to the plate, grabbed his medicine, and a coke zero.  I took it out to dad and asked him to join me on the front porch.  He did with no resistance.  We sat there in silence for a bit while he ate his sandwich, took his medicine, and drank his coke.  

It was a beautiful day, one where the sky was bright blue with big fluffy clouds that looked like cotton candy.  There was a slight breeze from a rain storm that had come in the night before and the robins were chirping at each other.  I had my head back and was rocking in the chair with my eyes closed when dad said "My grass is looking really good."  Please see picture at top of page for reference and let me give you a back story.  

My dad loves his yard.  He loves anything to do with yard work.  He has always taken pride in having a  beautiful yard.  Every other week, he would mow the lawn in alternating diagonal lines to keep the grass growing even.  He used fertilizer religiously, and made sure the edges around the sidewalk were trimmed perfectly. The grass color was always a rich Kelly green, just like the Crayola crayon.  

About a year ago, a patch of grass in the front yard started to die.  We are not 100% sure what happened, but we have a feeling that dad had mistaken weed killer for fertilizer.  For the last year, my brother and my husband have spent time raking the spot, putting down new seed, fertilizing, and putting down new soil to try and get the patch to regrow.  The area is a perfect spot for regrowth and we have been puzzled as to why grass will not grow back there.  We have tried several different times with always the same outcome.  

I nodded and told dad that yes, I thought the yard was looking good.  He said he had been working hard on it and felt the coffee and hot sauce was helping.  I sat there for a minute not realizing what he had said at first, and then I asked him to repeat himself.  He said that the spot of dead grass was looking a lot better since he started pouring coffee and hot sauce on it in the mornings.  I wish I had my reaction on video because I imagine the look on my face was priceless.  I sat there for a minute, not sure how to respond.  So I asked dad why coffee and hot sauce and he said because if they can perk up a person, it should work the same on grass, you know...give it the "umph" it needs to grow.  I just chuckled and agreed with him.  

We sat on the porch for a little bit longer and talked about what had happened earlier.  He didn't remember the details other than he was mad  that mom had left him with people who were not his boss (home health care started the week before last and we are having someone come in to sit with dad 2 days a week to relieve mom).  By the time, I was ready to leave, he was calm, relaxed, fed, and had his medicine for the night.  All was well.

I have laughed over and over again this last week thinking about dad watering the lawn with coffee and hot sauce to "perk" it up.  Mom is always worried that having a full pot of coffee on the counter is keeping dad up at night.  But really all it is doing is keeping the grass in her front yard from growing.  

Alzheimer's Disease takes a lot away from dad and I do not find many positives that arise from him having it.  But small, sweet moments like this are priceless to me.  It is like he is a child and trying to figure things out for himself and I am proud of him for that.  And that is a silver lining.