Moments

There have been so many ups and downs for me in recent weeks in regards to Dad’s illness. From the days I want to pretend Alzheimer’s doesn’t exist to pure joy at some of Dad’s alert reactions and comments, it goes without saying that this has been such an emotional journey. Some of the low points include the phone call from the nurse saying Dad isn’t eating and isn’t responding and does the family want to revive him should his heart stop? Am I really ready to face this? How close are we to the end of life? In a sense, we’ve all been preparing for this for a long time, but when it taps me on the shoulder, will I turn and run? Will I stare at it in utter shock, like it caught me completely off-guard? Or will I stand firm to meet it head on? (I am determined, by God’s strength, it will not flatten me.)

Last week, my son turned eight. We have a tradition at every birthday to watch the home video of the day that child was born. My dear little son burst into uncontrollable sobbing at the sight of his Poppy, healthy and whole, rejoicing at his birth. There was Poppy, tenderly holding his newest grandson (7th grandchild), smiling and laughing. What a happy day that was eight years ago! But the pain of knowing the harsh reality of today was almost more than a child could bear. How do I as a mother respond to that? I cling to what I know to be true and I speak it to his heart, because his head knows it already. (I hope my own heart was listening.) This is not all there is. One day, Poppy will be whole and complete again and we will rejoice, despite the pain. (Poppy will be in heaven waiting for us, so you better be there, son!)

Even Sunday’s visit brought a hint of tears to my boy’s eyes when Poppy, in rare form and having an exceptionally good day, said, “You are my buddy, TJ, my grandson and I’m keeping you!” I silently prayed “Keep it together, boy, just keep it together.” I prayed that for myself as well.

That visit (and the one prior, last Wednesday) was full of unspeakable joy for me as for a few moments, in a sense, my dad returned. I saw him smile! Not just that look around his eyes when the muscles lift slightly, but a real, true smile! He kept looking at the “Ferguson Soldier” picture on the wall; he knew everybody by name this time, and yet his eyes returned over and over to the face of his little brother, even with the shadow of the hat blocking some of his features, “that’s my brother, Virgil. There’s Uncle Virgil. TJ, do you see Uncle Virg up there?” And TJ would dutifully point out which photo he was referring to. His eyes would wander to the “50th Anniversary” photo above it. “There’s my little mama. My parents aren’t in this world anymore.” We talked about Ann Ferguson, widow of his brother, Mitchell.

My kids all climbed up on his bed. He wanted all of “the kids” around. “I’m so glad you kids are finally home,” he said. Carly shared a banana with him. When she gave him too big a bite, his eyes grew large and round!! We brought rice pudding and we even brought him his favorite, orange circus peanuts! He could see them in the clear plastic container and asked, “Whada’ya have there?" Without a word, I opened the lid and let him smell the candy, “That’s what I thought!” was the reply. He must have eaten 6 or 8! (Once when I was out of the room, checking on Carly, who was in the round lounge singing karaoke with the other residents—but that’s another story—he told Emily to give him three!!!) Later, the nurse brought around some ice cream. As I started to feed him, “Dad, do you want some ice cream?” He nodded and said, “Yeah, and I’ll buy you one, too!”

Poppy told TJ he liked his haircut (it’s short, Dad always liked short haircuts), Emily said, “We like your haircut, too, Poppy.” His jovial comment startled me, “Boy! The (and he couldn’t come up with the right word so he said) whatever you want to call it of some people!” Pause. Then he got the right word. “The audacity of some people!” What? Had I heard him correctly?!? What dementia patient uses the word audacity?! Amazing.

It was getting late, we needed to get home (children had school the next day). I HATED to leave. We gathered around to say goodbye, he wanted to know when he’d see us again. “I love all my kids. Every last one of them.” I said, “Dad you have a lot of kids!” He and I counted each one by name. Sixteen (including Mom and himself). “There’s sixteen of us, Dad!” “Wow, sixteen immediate family members,” he said, “I’d better go out and get me a job!!” :) Oh, Dad, some things never change! He still has that paternal instinct to provide for his family. And he can still joke! At least for the moment. And I am so thankful for the moments.

Before the Cloud choked out his light

Here is Dad in 2008 in front of the House in Gap. You can see he is unsteady…but he is standing.  He doesn’t stand any more.  I miss my Father.  Some day he will stand again in front of a Mansion.

Easter 2010