The napkin

 

During our conversation, dad asked me if I needed anything. He asked me if I needed any money specifically. I told him I was fine but he said how about a few quarters. I smiled and said sure. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a napkin and placed it on the arm of my chair. “This should do it.” He said.



Some who has never witnessed a person with Dementia would probably shake their head in disbelief. How on earth can someone think that a crumpled up napkin resembled anything close to a few coins? What are the differences of a piece of flimsy paper to a solid piece of nickel? Well, first there is the weight comparison. A quarter weighs more than the napkin. A napkin most likely feels like a feather compared to the solid coin. Then there is the texture, the quarter(s) are smooth and round where the napkin is wrinkled and crumpled into a ball. Color contrast, a quarter is shiny, the napkin is dull. So clearly there are differences between the two. It is very difficult to understand how a person would think that they are the same thing. But not for a person with Dementia.



When a person’s occipital lobes in the brain are damaged (Dementia) it stops the brains ability to process visual objects and connect it with memory. So that makes it hard for people to recognize objects or cause misperceptions of everyday objects. It is a very sad but true reality for those who are living with and around this disease. I have seen dad use the tv remote as a phone (which I read is very common), place a napkin in his mouth thinking it was a slice of pizza, and mistake me for someone else; just to name a few of the misperceptions that I have seen with dad. The first time, I witnessed it, I was in disbelief or shock I guess you could say. It doesn’t seem to faze me much anymore, I just go with the flow. That was until he handed me the napkin.



Was another visit where nothing seemed to be going well. Hard to keep him engaged, hard to think of any positives. I was angry at the world that he was there and that this is where I had to go and see my dad. Sad that he and I couldn’t carry on a “normal” conversation like we have done for so many years past. I was nauseous from the smell. No matter how much a nursing home staff cleans and tries to keep up with patient hygiene, there is always that lingering smell mixed with disinfectant spray. I don’t blame anyone for that, I just feel for them. I know it is hard. I was heartbroken to think that this is the way my family is going to spend the rest of my dad’s life with him. To put it simply, I was just pissed off.



Dad ended up closing his eyes and falling asleep for the rest of my visit. I didn’t wake him. Just kissed him on the top of his head, whispered I loved him and quietly walked out. When I got home, I decided the best thing for me to do was to just put on comfy clothes and lay on the couch. I wasn’t in any mood to do anything. Dinner was going to have to be takeout and the pile of laundry I had to do would have to wait until tomorrow. As I started to change my clothes, I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the crumpled napkin that dad had given me a few hours prior. I held it for a minute thinking I should toss it. But why didn’t I toss it on my way out? Why did I stick it in my pocket? Something stopped me from doing that and I guess it could have been just an after thought or maybe in some way, I wanted to keep something he had been holding on to. I don’t know why that napkin followed me home, but it did. So I folded it up nicely and placed it at the bottom of my jewelry box. I don’t know if I will ever unfold it again, but what I do know is that I have it with me. A small but powerful token of love. A memory to remind me that even in illness, my dad is always looking out for me, seeing if I need anything. (Silver lining).