Window into his world...

There are two questions that have kept me preoccupied lately: Who's there? and How's your father? You wouldn't think these two seemingly unrelated questions would take up much space in my mind.  For me, though, these two questions are directly related. In fact, the first question kind of answers the second.

Any time I go visit friends or my in-laws, I am usually asked "How's your father?" I know it is concern and love that prompt this question and am not upset by it. That said, I am never sure how to respond. A truthful response would be a major downer to start a social visit. On the other hand saying "He's doing great" would be an outright lie and would likely prompt more questions. A few months ago I began responding by simply smiling and saying "He has Alzheimer's". In other words, "It is kind of you to ask. He has an incurable brain disease and if you really want to hear more I will tell you, but be prepared that he has not made a miraculous recovery".
There is some irony to that repeated question. In a way it is like the loops that dad experiences, making the same statements and repeating the same questions over and over. The little devil on my shoulder almost had me convinced to start changing my answers to the question "How is your father?" in the same way I did when Dad would get caught in a question loop.
Answer 1:  "He's decided to take up base jumping"
Answer 2:  (gasp!) "Oh no! I left him at the zoo!"
Answer 3:  "He's fine. He's in the car."
I know, that wouldn't be nice and I'd never do it...but it's entertaining to think of new answers. Really the only appropriate response without going into detail is to say he is comfortable and well cared for, followed by, "Thank you for caring".

Up until a month ago, although he had stopped calling me by name, he still recognized me...but more things started fading. Hillary showed him a photo album in November. She told me he didn't recognize Mom, his parents, his brothers, and, although our names were familiar, he wasn't clear on the pictures of his children either. The one exception was Tom. When she showed him Tom's picture and asked if he remembered who it was, his response was remarkable.
"Well, he looks like me so that must be my son", he replied. Hillary and I were encouraged, feeling that this was a good sign. He was still capable of deductive reasoning. Sadly, disappointment was around the corner.

When you were growing up, how many "Knock! Knock!" jokes do you think you heard? Dozens...hundreds, maybe? They all start the same with the hopes of eliciting a laugh, a smile or at least a good humored groan....But when "Who's there?" is asked seriously by someone who is looking right at you, smiling can be difficult.  Dad stopped calling me Erin about a year ago. In that time he has only called me by name once without prompting. Instead he has been calling me "the little kid". A few weeks ago he stopped calling me that. Now when I walk into the room he looks at me and says, "Who's there?"
"It's Erin", I announce with a hopeful smile, but I can tell it's not ringing any bells.
"Erin!" he says brightly, trying to hide that he is stumped.

As the evening goes on and I run around making dinner, folding laundry, getting him to take a shower, or whatever else needs to be done, he eventually gives in and asks for a clue.
"Are you one of my kids?" he demands in an irritated voice that implies a sarcastic, "Can I buy a vowel??"
This question is easier to take because the fact that he has included me with the other "kids" indicates they are probably getting the same question from time to time.
"Yes, I'm the one who looks just like your mother, only I'm blonde!"  
 "Well, that explains a lot!" he replies with a chuckle. At least he still has his sense of humor.

It's better to help him tolerate whatever new situations develop with a smile.  Dad has been so used to knowing more than everyone in the room that having Alzheimer's must feel like the walls are closing in on him. With each day he wakes up with fewer and fewer facts and a growing number of question marks. One day he will probably wake up surrounded by nothing but question marks. How frightening it must be to witness his world shrinking around him. His comfort rests in the fact that he is surrounded by those who love him. Even if he can't quite remember names or how he knows each of us, he is aware that all of our faces are familiar and he is grateful for the familiarity. The one positive thing I can say about Dad's condition is ultimately the most important thing: Dad is happy. He may be frustrated by his symptoms and limitations but, even on a bad day, he is rarely without a smile and never without a hug for all of his visitors...and at the end of the evening he still remembers to ask for "one ringy dingy" on the phone to let him know we have made it home safely.

When I start to lose hope, something always happens to snap me back. Most recently it was a text from Paula:
"I got Dad to shave today (not a very good job, but I told him he looked so handsome.) Dad and I walked around the backyard. We talked about raising kids and discipline. He told me the most effective child raising is done with praise vs disappointment,  :)."

He's still teaching us.  Dad is still in there somewhere, being a father and guiding his children as best he can...still setting a good example.

To be continued....