A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
A link to all previous Grieving Room Diaries
Dad didn’t come into my life until after he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. My husband used to say to me “I wish you had known my dad.” I did know Dad but it was a different Dad than the one my husband knew. My husband talked about his dad being the most intelligent, well-spoken, kind man he had ever known. The man I knew was still all of these things but not at the degree that my husband remembered. The man I knew was a man who was not self-conscience about public displays of affection. This man told jokes and would start dancing at the drop of a hat. Not the man that hubby knew at all, but a thoroughly charming man none-the-less.
Hubby adapted to the new man that was his dad. He grew used to the new man, and even accepted willingly that his own name changed to that of Dad’s brother. He was okay being Dad’s brother. He was a part of the family. (Dad’s brother was still alive but lived 8 states away and they had not been close in years.) Dad would ask him if he remembered something they had done as children. Hubby would always respond “I don’t really recall. Tell me about it.” We got to hear stories of things Dad and his brother had done when they were children. It doesn’t matter if they were true or not, storytelling was a way of keeping connected with Dad. The stories were repeated often so there must have been some truth in them.
Hubby adapted when his mother called him in the middle of the night because Dad did not recognize his own wife and was frightened by the stranger he found in his home. Hubby adapted when Dad required more attention than his mom could give and the “memory ward” was the next option. He visited often and listened to the stories Dad told of his childhood. As Dad’s condition got worse, he adapted to seeing Dad’s boxers on the outside of his pants. He adapted seeing his dad sitting with another resident of the “memory ward” and holding hands with a woman who was not his wife.
In the fall of 2002, hubby came home and was obviously upset. He had stopped to visit his dad and something had happened. When I asked what was wrong, he cried “I’m not even a part of the family anymore.” He was no longer the brother. His dad had asked him who he was and when prompted a little, had responded that “you’re that guy that deals with our paperwork.” It’s true, he did deal with the paperwork, but that’s what sons do for their parents as they age.
Dad started to lose more and more memory. He forgot how to use a fork and spoon. He forgot how to brush his teeth, and put on his clothes. Hubby still visited regularly although Dad had no idea why or who he might be. Hubby adapted, but it was harder every time.
On Christmas Eve, 2002, hubby went to visit his dad before he picked up Mom to come to our house. He walked into his dad’s room and Dad’s eyes lit up and he exclaimed “There’s my son!” We will never know if Dad truly recognized him or if the words came from somewhere in the sky. I just know that my husband still talks about that day.
In January 2003, Dad’s physical health started to deteriorate. He contracted pneumonia, not unusual in older Alzheimer’s patients. Mom had been encouraged to cut back her visits because they were so upsetting to both of them. She visited 3 times a week instead of daily. She was visiting on a Saturday morning and a weekend nurse told her that if they didn’t take Dad to the hospital for treatment, he would drown. Mom didn’t know that the “drowning” was not the same feeling as falling in a river and that he could be kept comfortable until the inevitable end. She panicked and insisted he go to the hospital. Once in the hospital, they have to treat the patient until we could get him back to the home. The hospital called in a cardiac specialist. Really? Yes he had heart issues, but he didn’t know where he was, why or what was happening. We finally got him released back to the home. Hubby enforced the medical power of attorney (his mom was asked to make all the decisions as the spouse, but she was not capable of making reasonable decisions regarding her husband anymore, which we all knew, so hubby needed to make the decisions.) We had a conversation with his mom and then the nurses and told them “please keep him comfortable but let him go.”
Hubby was not adapting well to this stage of his Dad’s life. When we got the 3 a.m. call 10 days later, the nurse told us we needed to come because his dad had fallen. Hubby said to me “why don’t they just say he’s dead because we know he is?” We went to the home where the nurses met us in the hall outside of the “memory ward” and told us they were sorry but he was gone. I asked where he was and they said “we really don’t know what happens when they die” and I responded that I wanted to know where they had put the physical body. They had put him in his bed as though he was sleeping. We needed to go upstairs to his mother’s apartment and let her know. Hubby suggested we let her sleep and I insisted that since she would not be able to see his body again before the funeral (to be held in their hometown later) that she deserved to be told then. We went up to wake her and let her know. Her first words were “thank God!” It wasn’t that she was tired of dealing with his illness. She was relieved that he no longer had to suffer with such a horrible disease. When I took her downstairs to see him one last time, she patted his cheek and said “he’s cold” and pulled the quilt up under his chin and kissed his forehead.
Hubby doesn’t do funerals well. He thinks viewings are creepy. He doesn’t like small talk and the other things that go with funerals. I took charge (because that’s who I am) to make the arrangements. Hubby didn’t want to talk about it. When we met the rest of the family (a brother and aunts and uncles) in their hometown for the funeral, he kept his thoughts to himself. After a tiring week, the funeral and burial and the luncheon with people we didn’t know, we headed back to the hotel. Hubby, his brother and sister-in-law and two cousins, along with my brother, met in our hotel room after settling the older folks in their rooms. There we read the cards, divided up thank you notes and after a while, the flood gates opened and the cousins started telling stories. We were all laughing at one of the stories of Dad when hubby turned to me and said “I wish you’d known my Dad.”