The lottery win!

 Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not a big gambler.  I have been known to take $50 to Las Vegas with the understanding that when it is gone, it’s gone.  I love getting a lottery ticket in my Christmas stocking or a birthday card knowing that I have no expectation of winning, but thinking it sure would be fun if I saw a prize show up.  But you won’t find me buying them for myself or putting more than a few dollars in a slot machine.  Why?  Because I literally get sick to my stomach when doing so.  The thought of losing $20.00 in a matter of seconds is terrifying to me.  I think of a million other things I would, could, and should have spent that $20.00 on.  So I found it so funny when dad brought up this very thing. 

 

We were having a nice conversation about the boys.  He always, always asks me about the boys.  I think that is what we spend most of our time talking about which is fine by me because I could talk about them all day long, every day.  HA!  But as we were discussing how school and sports are going, dad says, “She only put 3 coins in.”  I asked dad who he was talking about and he said “Vanessa.”  He went on to say that I was sitting at the slot machine and only put in 3 quarters because I am a “tightwad.”  I laughed out loud when dad said that because even in the midst of all that is going on, he still knows his daughter.  He must still have this memory of me sitting at a slot machine in Las Vegas as a 20 something, broke, college student putting in the last of my coins. 

 

The brain is amazing and frustrating all at the same time, especially when a brain disease has taken over.  One moment, dad is talking to me, knowing it is me, and talking about the present.  And then in a matter of seconds, he is talking about me to me as if I am a stranger talking about memories from 20+ years ago. Most days, I find it depressing.  I want to scream and cry and ask “Why?”  But this particular conversation had me laughing and I was able to put aside the sadness and play along.  I ended up asking dad, “Well did Vanessa win anything?”  He grinned and said “Yep a whole bag full!”  I can honestly tell you I didn’t win a bit of money, but I sure won the lottery of dad’s.  (Silver lining).   

 

Don't sweat the small things!

 Years ago, I was a preschool teacher. I loved it. I loved the sweet little faces and the funny things they would say. I taught for many years throughout college and after. I have stories and memories from my time teaching that I will carry with me forever. Now that dad is living in a memory care facility, I am reliving those earlier years for I am finding that preschool tots and memory care patients have a lot in common. And I find it so sweet.



When I walk in to see dad, the hallway is eerily quiet. Hmmm, I think. Reminds me of nap time. As I walk down the hallway, I stop at dad’s room. He is asleep in his recliner with tv remote still in hand. I don’t bother him and continue towards the dining room. Every room I pass, I notice a sweet soul either curled up in their bed or sound asleep sitting up right as they fell asleep in a sudden moment. Just like nap time years prior. I would finally get all of the children on their cots with their blankets and stuffies. Some would want to sit up and read a book which was fine as long as they provided quite for their friends. Others were out as soon as I tucked them in while the ones who insisted on reading would be sound asleep with in minutes, sitting up right, book still in their laps. Nap time for me was always a much needed time, which I am sure it is for staff in the memory care unit too. It provided a break, a moment to catch up on a million tasks that needed to be done a week ago, and allowed me a moment to breathe. Knowing to take advantage of the stillness, even if for just a brief moment. Knowing that the afternoon would be full of surprises.



I spoke to the nurse and aides for a little bit and then slowly walked back to dad’s room. On my way, I noticed the rustling of blankets, bathroom doors opening and closing, tv’s being turned on, and the sound of life coming back from a slumber, recharged and ready to go. Very similar to the days when I would turn back on the lights and open the blinds to see the sweetest little sleepy faces slowly start to open their eyes. They would look up at me, smile with their toothless grins, and remind me of how precious life is. And it was no different when I walked into dads room. He looked at me, grinned, and said “Hi Vanessa!” Reminding me that life is indeed precious.



But it wasn’t long before he was up and ready to go. Dad asked me if I wanted to go out to eat. I said “sure, where are we going to go?” He smiled and told me to follow him. But first, he had to try all the door knobs (closet door, bathroom, door, and bedroom door) until he found the right one. Still weary from his nap and a little confused. Just like the little boy or girl stuffing their giant sized blanket and pillow into their tiny little backpack in their tiny little cubby with half closed eyes and the typical patience of a 4 year old. Once dad found the right door to exit, he was ready to go. We walked hand in hand down the hallway. There was laughter coming from one room where a man had turned the tv on to see something that made him chuckle. Reminded me of the little group of girls coming from the rest room break laughing at something only they knew was to be funny. A women came out of her room and followed dad and I closely. As she got right on my heels she asked me to stop. She asked me if I could ask the nurse for some apple juice and peanut butter to feed her cats. I told her I would ask. Then she proceeded to tell me why she needed peanut butter and apple juice for her cats because that is all they will eat and she didn’t want them to starve to death. Years prior, the same kind of conversation was had with a little boy who carried his plastic dinosaur every where he went and would pick up pebbles from the playground. I would find them scattered all over the classroom floor. But his dinosaur needed to eat or he would “starf to def” too. Another woman was sitting on a couch next to the dining area. A nurses aide was trying to get her to come in and join the group that was gathering around the table. She was having nothing to do with it. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest yelling she wasn’t going anywhere, just like the preschoolers did who HATED getting up from nap time. It would take at least 30 minutes of coaxing before they would be awake enough to join the group.



Another man walked into the dining area asking where lunch was. The nurse politely told him it would be coming in about an hour. No matter how many times you tell a four year old that snack is coming, they will still ask you 3 more times. Just like this man did. In a total of 5 minutes, he walked back into the dining area 3 more times asking the same question and being told the same answer. During this time, the nurse was taking blood sugars for the residents with diabetes, an aide was pouring cups of coffee, the woman across the way was still yelling that she still was not going to come in to the dining area, the woman who asked me about the cats was now asking another person if she knew where her cats had gone, my dad was asking people if they had caught any fish, and another man walked into the area completely soaked from an bathroom accident. Complete chaos. I traveled back in time to remember those hectic moments. Trying to pick up the cots, manage bathroom turns, calm a child who was having a break down, stop two little boys from sitting on each other, stop the two at the sink from seeing who can spray the water the farthest, and answer a million little questions all at the same time. And then once things started to settle, you would step in a puddle and realize someone didn’t make it to the bathroom on time. Those days were hard. But then a small little hand would take mine and ask me to walk with them, or I would hear “I love you Miss Vanessa,” or being on the playground and having a little run back to me because a goodbye was forgotten. These small little acts of humanity made the stress melt away.



As I sat in the dining room with dad after the chaos had settled I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Like all of the stress magically disappeared and all was well in the world. The nurse was walking the man who had an accident back into the dining room and I heard him say, “thank you for helping me with my pants.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and told him it was no problem at all. The lady who had been adamant that she would not join the group was now sitting with 2 other ladies enjoying a cup of juice. The lady asking about her cats was still asking about her cats, but seemed more content with the answers she was being given. A few other men were at a table laughing about something that had been said. Dad and I were enjoying coffee. Looking around at everyone, I realized that people with memory loss and preschoolers have a lot in common. Life had happened and life moved on. No one was dwelling on bathroom accidents or lost cats. No one was still sitting in the corner, arms crossed refusing to join. That is the beauty of it. Life is full of chaos, but it is how we deal with it that matters. One of my favorite sayings is, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” And that is true. We have enough “big stuff” to worry about that we shouldn’t spend too much time on the little stuff. So yet again, a moment turned into a lesson on this journey in life. (silver lining).

The everlasting hug

 

The past few visits, I have received the biggest hugs from dad. As soon as he sees me, he holds his arms out. When I embrace him, I feel the weight of the world release from my shoulders. I feel safe again, I almost feel like I used too. The hugs are different, but the same all in one. For instance…



His shoulder blades protrude more than I have ever noticed in my life, but his arms are still strong. Strong enough to hold me in a tight grip. His embrace still tells me he is my dad and will do what he can for me. He doesn’t smell like Old Spice any more, but he still has a comforting smell. One that I wish I could bottle and take with me. He doesn’t always know who I am, but he hugs me like he has known me my whole life.



I read once that you should never be the first one to let go from a hug. You should hug the person as long as you can until they let go. I have used this rule with my boys since they were old enough to hug me on their own. I never let go first and I never will. Doing this simple act, has taught me that I usually need that hug more than them. I find comfort in their hugs. My husband is a hugger and I am not. My youngest gives hugs out like candy to anyone and everyone. My oldest, hugs me, his dad, and grandma. Everyone else is greeted with a fist bump. Could be because he is now a teenager, but I remember even when he was younger he didn’t hug a lot of people. We would take him to see Santa Clause and he would ask me, “Do I have to hug him?” I guess I never have been a huge hugger either, but as time passes and I am faced with the hurdles of life , the more I realize the power of a hug. Such a simple way to tell someone they mean something to you. No words are needed, just an embrace. That is pretty powerful.



So as long as my dad wants to hug me, I will always hold on until he lets go. It seems so simple, but speaks louder than any words can. (Silver lining).

Lesson learned

 

The first thing he asked me when we got seated in the front sitting room was if grandma was still alive.  I lowered my head and shook it slightly, “no dad, she is in Heaven.”  He then asked, “and dad?”  Again, I shook my head and said “he is in Heaven too.”  Tears slid down his cheeks.  I didn’t ask him what was wrong because I already knew.  He was thinking of his parents and missing them.  Then dad said, “I wish I would have taken him golfing.”  I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there.  What can you say to that? 

 

It got me thinking though, I don’t want to have any regrets.  I don’t want to miss out on any opportunities.  I don’t want to look back and say “I wish I would have told this person this..”, or I wish I would have done this…” Truth be told, I am scared that I too will develop this horrible disease.  I have seen my grandmother live with it and now I am watching my dad.  It is hard for me to even write this out in words because I am 100% scared….to…death.  There are times in certain moments where I am happy and proud, that I am brought to the reality that one day, that moment may never have exisited in my mind.   And I will start to cry.  But then I have to quickly pull myself together because I have to realize I am not just making memories for myself, but for those with me. 

 

October 2024, we all knew dad’s disease was getting worse.  My mom loves the beach and Dennis and I wanted to help mom and dad enjoy a beach vacation, with the heartbreaking reality knowing this may be there last beach trip together.  The vacation was hard.  Dad was confused most of the trip which in return made him irritable.  I know it wasn’t his fault.  I know that taking someone with Dementia out of there comfort zone for more than 2 days can be very hard on the person.  Selfishly, I thought that maybe he would be ok as long as he had all of us.  Plus, dad wasn’t walking around as good as he used to and that is an obstacle when you are on vacation.  So there were no long beach walks up and down the shore looking for sea treasures.  There were no early morning walks on the beach watching the sun rise, and definitely no beach walks at night to watch the sun set over the ocean.  Plus, a horrible hurricane had ripped through Florida a few weeks prior to our stay, so the weather was not great.  High winds, cloudy skies, and big waves.  The beaches had been ripped to shreds as well and if there were any shells or shark teeth to be found, they were buried several feet under the sand. 

 

We still wanted to take the boys on to the beach, to get their toes in the sand and feel the ocean breeze on their cheeks.  One afternoon, we decided to take the boys to play around.  It was a little chilly and over cast, but we braved it.  The wind was crazy and it made the sand fly around.  The sand stung as it hit our bare skin.  The wind was so strong we could barely stand.  I looked up towards the condo and noticed dad walking down the stairs towards us. He got over to me and we laughed at how hard the wind was and how the sand hurt hitting our faces.  We spent a few minutes walking in a small area with our heads down hoping to find a little crab or other sea creature.  The sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore.  No words were needed.  I think dad too, knew this may be his last time at the beach.  I think he watched us out there and wanted to share in that moment.  A silver lining plus a lesson learned almost a year later. 

 

Dad had to have known in that moment, that he was making a memory with us.  No regrets, no fear.  He was going to brave that wind, the angry sand and search for sea treasures with us even if that meant he may never remember that moment again.  What a gift to us.  So for me, this is a lesson of bravery.  As scared as I am to forget my past, I am more scared to not give my husband and children memories. 

Dad is still teaching me, guiding me, and loving me.  He is still the person I look up to, admire, and want to be like (minus the dementia).  He is a wonderful human, a great teacher, and still my hero. 

Glimpse from the past

The boys and I took dad McDonald’s today. He had mentioned to me on the phone the previous day that a cheeseburger sounded good. When we arrived, dad was at the oh so famous office desk writing on some paper. He looked at us, smiled, and said he was just finishing up with some things. I looked at the paper and saw some scribbles, nothing that resembled anything to us but I know it meant something to him. As one of the aide’s walked by, he handed her the paperwork and the pen and informed her he was done for the day. I think this says so much about my dad and his work ethic. He always had a strong work ethic and taught me and my brother the same. It amazes me that even in the depths of Alzheimer’s disease, he still falls back into that work ethic.



Dad picked at his hamburger and took small bites. He was too engrossed at watching the boys shovel their burgers into their mouths. There were points where dad would tear up and I would ask him what was wrong. He would just wipe his tears away and say “I just miss those boys.” At one point, Myles piped in and said “we miss you too grandpa.” I felt so sorry for the boys in that moment. They are such troopers and accompany me to visit dad at least every other week. I am so torn with how often they should come with me because I know it is such a sad situation to bring them into and I know they miss grandpa and how he use to be. I know they don’t know what to say to him or how to have a conversation with him. But it still amazes me how dad will ask them a question that makes no sense, but they answer him like they know exactly what he is talking about. For example, dad asked Will if he was able to finish up the wood pile project and he responded with “I did!” and dad asked Myles if he caught the walleye that was too small yesterday and Myles said he did but had to “throw it back.” Moments like these I beam with pride. I love their hearts. All though grandpa doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and there are long moments of silence during the visit, I know it good for the boys to have these moments just to be with grandpa.



Dad finished half of his burger and ate a few fries by the time the boys were finished and had sat there for 20 minutes trying to make small talk. All of the other residents were in the dining area eating their meals, so I told the boys they could go into the front sitting area and play the games they had set up in there from earlier that day. There was a corn hole game and a ladder toss game. The boys jumped at the opportunity to go throw some things around. I tried to encourage dad to eat some more, but he just didn’t seem interested. I asked him if he wanted to go watch the boys play and he said he would. I cleaned up and by the time I had got back to the table from throwing the trash away he was already in route to the boys. He took a seat right in front of where the boys were. I took a seat on the couch and took it all in. And what a wonderful sight it was.



The boys were having so much fun. There was a lot of laughing and brother smack talk. So much, that grandpa even got into it. At one point, dad grabbed his hat and put it on sideways and asked Will if he was going to let his brother beat him like that. I laughed and snapped a picture because dad always, always used to take his hat off and put it on sideways when he was trying to act funny. It reminded me of the past. And I was so happy to see that glimpse of dad again. (silver lining). It was like we were back 5 even 10 years ago sitting around my parents living room watching the boys play. All of us laughing at something being done silly, my dad putting his hat on sideways to try and be equally funny. Those were the days. Memories I hold dear and memories that I am so thankful my boys have (silver lining). Even today’s memory will hopefully live forever in their hearts, as different as it may be, it is still special in its own way.

One day at a time

 

I have learned through this journey, that the best thing for my mental health is to take it all, one day at a time.  I can not worry about tomorrow and I can’t go back to yesterday.  Which in return helps me find the silver linings each day.  I have a quote board hanging in my office.  I usually try and find a funny quote appropriate for work or something that is motivational.  But a few months ago when I was having a rough day and felt the weight of the world crashing down on me, I put the words “one day at a time” up on the board.  This has provided me with some peace especially on those really rough days.

 

It feels that the last 3 months have had more frustrating days than good.  And to be brutally honest, some days it is very hard to find a silver lining.  And this visit proved that to be true.  Dad was not himself.  He hasn’t been for several weeks.  He seems more agitated than normal, sad, and/or very tired.  I do believe this has to do with his blood sugars and we are actively working on that with the nursing home and my hope is that when he moves, we can get him re-evaluated and back on track. 

 

Dad didn’t talk much at all.  And when he did, it was not very pleasant.  He was convinced he needed to wash his hands several times.  After walking with him up and down the hall way with him trying to find a sink, I tried to guide him back to the common area where there is a sink that I knew he could use.  He was not having any of it.  He couldn’t understand why I wanted him to go in that direction and why I was telling him what to do.  He grudgingly moved with me but not without a snarky remark that I was not his boss.  I just smiled and told him I understood. 

 

Dinner was another obstacle.  He would not sit down.  The aides kept asking him to sit, but he just kept repeating that he had to go.  Where he had to go to, I have no idea. But he was not going to sit down at that table for nothing.  Food was served and he still wouldn’t sit.  One of the aides even grabbed a spoonful of noodles and held it up to his mouth mentioning that it was time for dinner.  But he didn’t care, he had somewhere to go.  So he started to walk towards an area right next to the dinner tables.  It is designed to look like an office.  There is a large, fancy desk, some chairs, and a book case.  I was told that it was to provide familiarity to some of the residents who had previously worked in an office setting.  (I love that!)  Dad sat down in the big leather chair.  I watched him for a minute and then took his food over to where he sat.  As I approached him, I asked him how work was going and he said “just fine.”  I sat down beside him as he picked at his food, but he managed to eat a few bites here and there. 

 

After dinner, a pastor and his wife from a local church stopped by and provided a sermon and music for the residents.  I walked dad to the front sitting room and we took a seat on the couch.  I listened attentively to what the pastor was saying.  He was telling the story of Jesus’s disciples.  He went through all 12 of them and explained how they were impacted by Jesus.  I couldn’t help but chuckle when the pastor looked around and jokingly said he was going to make his sermon short because there were a lot of tired looking sweet souls sitting in the crowd.  I looks around, and almost everyone including dad was sound asleep.  As he was closing his sermon, he said that the reason Jesus picked these disciples was because of their strength.  He said that they refused to give up and surrender.  This struck me like a lightning bolt.  Just earlier that day, I had questioned how much more I could handle?  How much more could I give in a day to others when I am barely keeping my head above water?  How much more was I willing to be there for others when I felt so alone most days?

 

The pastor’s wife ended with a song.  The song was called, “One day at a time.”  I sat there in the middle of a group of people and cried.  I cried harder than I had cried in a long time.  I let all the pent up anger that I had built up go.  When the song ended, I kissed dad on the top of his head and walked out to my car.  I don’t recall all of the things that went through my mind on the way home, but I do recall telling myself that there was no way I was going to give up.  I  will keep fighting the good fight one day at a time.  And I felt strong and refreshed.  (silver lining). 

 

Sign from above

I sat in my car during my lunch hour to try and get some rest.  I haven’t been sleeping well and it seems as if I have started to grow anxious on days I plan to visit with dad.  I think it is a mixture of just being frustrated with the whole process and worrying about how dad is going to be.  Lately things have changed with his blood sugar levels and he is not his usual, cheery self. 

 

I found myself not being able to close my eyes and rest because dad kept popping into my mind.  Is he ok?  Is he sad?  Is his blood sugar ok today?  Does he get lonely?  Is there any time through out the day where is memory is clear?  Does he know I love him?  Does he know I am sorry he is going through this?  And then the tears started.  I sat for a little while longer asking myself over and over again these questions.  Then I looked up to Heaven and I asked God out loud to give me a sign.  To give me a sign that dad is ok.  Then the thought of an owl came to me and I asked God to show me an owl.  I told myself I needed to see an owl to feel deep in my heart and secure that dad was going to be ok.  I cleaned my smeared mascara off my cheeks and walked back into work and didn’t think another thing about it.

 

After work, as I was driving to see dad, I again asked God if he would show me an owl.  I explained that I understood that knowing ahead of time what the future holds is not something I can have.  I explained that I understood that I have nothing to do with the timing of things.  I said that I believe that the plan he has for us is much greater than I could ever understand in this moment. I explained that I wasn’t asking for any explanations.  I simply needed a sign that all was going to be ok with dad.  And if I could have this sign, I would be able to keep pushing forward and being strong for my parents, my family, and myself. 

 

When I arrived, dad was sitting at the dinner table.  When I approached the table he smiled and he said, “well there she is!”.  The gentleman sitting with dad asked who I was and dad responded with “This is my daughter.”  I asked dad if I could sit down with him and he said “of course.”  I noticed his place setting for dinner was on the other side of where he was sitting.  A nurse walked by and mentioned to me that he was supposed to sit on the other side.  I stood up and took his plate, silverware, and cup and placed it in front of him.  I figured it would be a much easier task to move the place setting than try and explain to dad he needed to play musical chairs.  As I am scooting my chair to the other side of dad, I glanced up to my left.  Against the wall is a row of built in book shelves.  I have seen them and looked at them and their contents every visit I have had.  They are nice shelves filled with puzzles and books, with a few knick knacks here and there.  Dad and I have stood there a few times while he has showed me some puzzles with locks (great for working on fine motor skills) and folded napkins (one day dad thought he was working in a restaurant). 

 

To the left at the very top of the shelf sat an owl.  It was made out of metal and painted different colors.  When I tell you, I couldn’t believe what I saw…I mean it.  I looked away, looked back and it was still there.  I even said out loud, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”  Noone seemed to notice me or my flabbergasted expression so I took my cell phone out of my pocket and snapped the picture.  Then I looked up to Heaven and whispered, “Thank you.” 

 

The rest of the evening went on with short conversations here and there, a lot of nodding off into sleep (dad of course), and a whole lot of thankfulness.  It still hurts, the reality of all of this still stings, and the process is frustrating, but I can find peace in knowing that my dad is going to be ok.  We are all going to be ok.  (Silver lining).

 

Always a provider

Every person that has ever met my dad would probably tell you that he would give you the shirt off his back.  And my response to that is, he would probably give you his pants, his socks, and his shoes too.  My dad is a provider, even in the midst of having Alzheimer’s. 

We were visiting dad and dinner time came upon us. Dennis helped my dad out of his chair, and we led him to the dining area.  Dad’s place sitting had already been placed and he was ready to eat.  On the menu for this evening was chicken noodle soup and BLT’s.  Once he was served, he dug right in.  Now here is a man who was clearly hungry.  As he disassembled his sandwich, he cut a piece of the bacon in half and handed me a piece and Dennis a piece.  We gladly accepted it and smiled.  Then he took a slice of bread, laid it on the table, and placed a slice of bacon on it.  He took his knife and cut it up and with a smile, he pushed it over to Will.  Will is my picky eater.  He won’t eat anything with color in it, especially green.  The blander the better. If something looks off to him, he won’t even try it.  So, as I am watching my dad cut up this bread on the table, I thought there is no way Will would eat it.   But he took it like a champ and picked up the slice of bacon, plopped it in his mouth and told Grandpa it was good with a smile.  God bless his sweet, sweet heart (silver lining).  Grandpa looked pleased and continued eating. 

 

I am almost positive there were times my parents went without to provide for us.  They never shared that with us, but I know that there were times in my life where big life changes happened such as career changes, big moves, and loss of jobs.  But the one thing that was consistent was, I never went without. 

As a child, I always had the latest toys.  Christmas, birthdays, and even Valentine’s Day never came without receiving something special.  And to be honest, it wasn’t even saved for special occasions.  At times, I would get a toy for no real reason at all, other than my parents loving me.  I always had clothes and shoes.  Every new school year started out with a new outfit or two. 

As I grew into a teen, I learned what hard work was like.  I had to get a job or two to help pay for gas and extras, but if I ever needed a few dollars here and there, dad would always get out his wallet.  Sports and extra-curricular activities were expensive, but I never had to not participate because my parents couldn’t provide for me.  Whether it was a new tennis racket or reeds for my clarinet, I always got what I needed. 

College was another time in my life where my parents continued to provide for me.  I was prepared (so I thought) to live on my own, buy my own meals, make my own way.  And boy let me tell you, nothing beats seeing your parents drive up with a sack or two of groceries when you were down to eating macaroni noodles with ketchup (poor college student spaghetti).  And for some reason, they always knew when to show up.

And continue to provide they did, even as I graduated college, got a job, and moved away.  There was always a card that would magically appear in the mail with a fresh $20 bill.  20 years ago, that would easily have bought a tank of gas or a really fun night out with my friends!

We always had a roof over our head that was clean and well maintained.  We always had a refrigerator full of food.  We always had heat, water, and air conditioning.  We got extras, like trips to the mountains and Washington D.C.  We always had a vehicle that got us from point A to point B. 

But most importantly, we were provided with parents who loved us, wanted nothing but better for us, and taught us to be good humans.  And as I sat there with dad and witnessed him share his food with us, I was humbled.  As I look back over my past 47 years, I think of how lucky I am as a person. How lucky I am to have had this life and this provider.  Some people never get this in their lifetime, and here I am having had it for 47 years.  And that is a pretty big silver lining. 

 

 

 

 

 When I was in my mid-twenties, trying to figure out life, who I was, who I wanted to be, and why...mom and dad were wondering when they were, if they were ever gonna be grandparents.  My generation tends to wait a little longer than my parents generation did with the whole get married and start having children thing.  Little did we know that it would be Heath, that would start the next chapter.

Ella and Anna came into our lives at the perfect time.  Dennis and I wanted to have our own children, but had no clue what that even looked like or if that was even in our cards.  So being an aunt and uncle first was a blessing (silver lining).  However, seeing how much my mom and dad loved the girls, made me reeeaaallllly want to experience that with them as well.  

The first time I met my beautiful sister in-law Katy, I knew she was the one.  When she told me she had 2 little girls, it sealed the deal for me!  As for my parents too.  I knew they were excited to have grandbabies and do all the fun things grandparents do.  I can't share details of the memories Ella and Anna have with my dad because they are not my memories to share.  But what I can share are the long conversations I had with my dad before Alzheimer's took over where he told me how much they mean to him and how proud he was to be their grandpa.  I can share with you how I witnessed his face light up watching Anna dance ballet and how he had a good laugh every time he retold the story of taking Ella to a carousel where she went around and around asking each lap,  "One more time Ony, one more time?"  I can share how I saw him go back into time remembering my childhood watching Anna perform in show choir and Ella play basketball.  I can share that he was always so proud to introduce the 2 of them to anyone around.  He was and he is proud to be their grandpa.   

I know there will be many moments yet to come where our heart aches that dad won't be there and I just don't hate that for myself, I hate it for my entire family.  Looking back through pictures, I found so many of us laughing, having fun, and being together.  And we are still making memories like the picture above.  Ella giving dad a haircut.  It is probably not the same as doing it at the house and dad probably doesn't talk as much or asks Ella as many questions as before but a memory is still being made.  

So the silver lining is this...I have many.  I found many, many pictures which tells me that we are blessed to have had so many moments together.  We have had many years together and I am so thankful for that. And I have many thanks to give to my beautiful nieces who not only were my dad's first grandbabies, but the ones to make him so proud.

Adventures

 When I was a little kid, my dad would take us on adventures. I imagine he was nervous and excited all at the same time. Him not knowing how the adventure would go, whether it would be fun or if we would hate it. But when I think back, I realize some of my fondest memories are from those adventures.

My first ever adventure was when I was 2. I do not remember this adventure, but from the stories I have heard over the years, it was quite the adventure…one that would be frowned upon in today’s society. Imagine me being 2 years old, wearing bib overalls, and standing on a bucket seat of my dads pick up truck. My little arm around his neck while eating cracklins as he handed them to me.  I imagine the windows down, country music playing in the background, and the smell of old spice and leather seats. I imagine dad being very careful going around corners, but making it seem like we were driving Indy cars…telling me to “hold on, Nes! “I imagine mom standing in the driveway waving us off for our morning of fishing, feeling nervous.   She would be yelling to my dad as we drove away to watch me near the water. But I can’t help but think she was also feeling lucky. Lucky to have a husband who loved his little girl with all his heart knowing he would be the first one in the river if she were to fall in.

Throughout my life, dad has taken me on many adventures from rattlesnake roundups and trips up Mt. Saint Helen’s, to salmon fishing in the mountains to snipe hunts on our many camping trips. I am sure that every adventure began with the hope of memories being made. But also, with fear of the unknown. This week was no different for me.

I am not a fan of my dad being in the nursing home. It is no secret, everyone that knows me is aware that I am not happy about it. I think about dad as if he doesn’t have Alzheimer’s disease. I imagine he is wondering all day where we are at and why he is there. I think he understands he is somewhere other than home. I think that he is sad and feeling abandoned my us. And then I witness myself just how bad the disease is taking him away.

Dennis, the boys, and I picked dad up to take him out for pizza. I walked in the dining area and found dad sitting with my favorite ladies getting ready to eat. He hadn’t been served his food yet, so I asked him if he wanted to go and get pizza. He was very confused. I told him the boys were in the car waiting for us and we had “reservations” to get pizza. 25 minutes later with the help of a few aides, dad was buckled in tight and ready to go.

He hadn’t been out of the nursing home in over 6 weeks. I was excited to see if he acted different. I was scared he would hate it and it would make him upset. I kept watching his face for any changes. All I got was a blank stare. Once inside the restaurant, he seemed a little more relaxed. The waiter brought over parmesan cheese and hot pepper flakes. Dennis got us our root beers, and the boys brought us over plates, silverware, and napkins. It wasn’t long before dad was pouring the cheese and pepper flakes onto his plate. I didn’t say anything, just watched. He then took his root beer and poured some onto his plate and stirred the concoction all together and started eating. We all laughed when dad told us it was a little too hot for his liking. I advised he might want to wait for the bread sticks to dip in the flakes before he continued. The bread sticks arrived, and dad ate one. When he was finished, he folded up his napkin into a shape of a bread stick, dipped it in the cheese and started eating it. It wasn’t long before he realized it wasn’t a bread stick. After dad devoured two small corners of the pizza, he told us he was stuffed.

As soon as dad got into the car, he looked at me and said, “where are we going for ice cream?” So of course, our adventure had one more stop. We stopped off at a drive in and got vanilla scoops in cups. We ate in silence. I wanted to cry because I wondered if that was the last time I would ever eat ice cream with my dad. I wondered if this adventure was uncomfortable for him. But then a silver lining hit me, and I realized I was having ice cream with my dad right then. There was no reason to think about the future. I needed to be present in the now. We finished up our ice cream and drove away. I dreaded taking him back to the nursing home. But when one of the nurses asked him how dinner was, he reported it was good and he also got some ice cream!

Birthday and lemons

I had brought him a piece of lemon meringue pie since it was his birthday.  When I told him I had something for him, he asked if it had any thing to do with lemons.  He remembered.  

We wished him a Happy birthday, but he didn't seem to understand what we were wishing him.  Someone at the dinner table asked him how old he was and he responded with "I don't really know."  It didn't seem to make sense to keep going on about his birthday as guilty as that felt.  I wanted to sing the traditional song and open presents.  I wanted to be gathered around the table or the back porch talking about past birthdays.  I wanted us to celebrate this day just like we had done years past.  But like I keep telling myself, make new memories.  And that is just what we did.

After dinner was over, we went into the living area and sat on the couches.  We did some small talk, dad did the most of the talking.  Still not sure what it was about but I nodded to every word.  Before long, we were joined by 5 other sweet souls that share this living space with my dad.  First Juliet, Mary Ellen, and Rosemary wheeled in.  A sweet and kind nurse wheeled in George and then came in Clara.  The nurse asked all of us if we wanted to watch a movie.  No one but me really answered.  So she put on a classic Elvis movie, "Clambake."  Once the music started I sat back and witnessed something so much better than any Elvis movie.  I watched 5 people who have had their lives cut short with Dementia enjoy something with their whole entire being without a care in the world.  Something that I could only be so thankful for.  It was a lesson I didn't know I needed.

It is not fair that any of these wonderful people have to be there.  They all had lives before this disease took them over.  They had families, careers, and memories.  They had experiences that are now just lost to them.  But they are not angry.  They are still as sweet and beautiful as they were 20 years ago, just with a little different mindset.  

Mary Ellen.  I could go on for hours about her.  She reminds me of my little granny.  She is tiny and her voice matches.  She motioned me over and I went over and knelt beside her. I noticed her striking blue eyes, very, very blue.  She mumbles something to me about her hair and asked me if I thought it was ok that way.  I nodded and said, "Mary Ellen you are beautiful!"  She put her hand to her mouth and giggled a little and said "Oh my, thank you."  I joined dad back on the couch and watched her for a little longer.  I imagine her being a spit fire when she was younger.  A beautiful, petite lady that would have no problem putting you in your place if you needed it.  I imagine her being a carefree soul with flowers in her hair.

Juliet.  Oh sweet Juliet.  I can imagine her as a young girl being the one who had to wear shorts or pants under her dresses because she was always side by side with the neighborhood boys racing bicycles and climbing trees.  She was strong willed and determined.  I imagine she was successful in her life with whatever it was she did.  She wheeled herself to the bathroom, determined to do it herself.  Unfortunately Dementia has taken a lot of that free will away and she had to holler for help. I ran into the bathroom, but realized the job was too much for me.  Thankfully a nurse had walked by just at the right time.  

Rosemary.  She marches to her own drum.  She is confident and does what she feels like doing.  Every time I see her, she is in a different hat.  Today was a bright red bucket cap.  And she looked marvelous.  I bet at one time, she was fancy and attended many dinner parties.  I imagine she was the life of the party.  I looked over, and she was sound asleep.

Clara.  Clara is a very classy, lovely lady.  She is beautiful.  I imagine her being the type of person I could sit on a porch for hours with.  Talking about world events and vintage flea market finds.  Clara is silent as she watches the movie.

George.  George doesn't talk much, but I imagine at one time, he could talk to you about anything and everything.  I imagine he was up to date with the world's top news and was a history buff.  I imagine he was a great story teller, one that could make any thing come to life.  He sat there not really watching the movie, but his mind was somewhere else.  I like to think he was remembering something that meant a lot to him.  

Everyone of these individuals have had a previous life.  A life that I will never know for sure about.  A life taken away too soon, this I do know for sure.  The music starts to play again and Elvis is singing to a group of children about confidence.  I look around the room and all of a sudden, everyone was awake and watching.  Some of them clasped there hands together.  I heard some remarks on how sweet the children were in the movie.  I heard a few "ohs and awes."  I saw smiles.  I saw a few heads nod.  And in that moment, here was a group of people who have every reason to be bitter and angry for the situation they have been given...but in that moment, it was pure joy.  Not a care in the world.  I looked over at dad and he started singing the song along with Elvis.  He knew the song.  I started to hum along too.  Something I would have thought twice about doing ever before.  But I wanted to live in that moment.  Be in that moment.  I didn't want to care about anything, just enjoy.  And that is what I did.  I left that night in such a good mood.  I had fun.  I had fun watching the movie and I learned a lot in those short 2 hours.  I learned that when life gives you lemons, enjoy the lemon meringue pie when you get the chance.  (Silver lining).

Note:  These are real people, but for privacy reasons, I did not use their real names.