May 4, 2007

Today’s visit. The weather was warm and shady under the large tree on the front lawn of the home. My children played and romped in the grass, even climbing the trees. The only vehicle to drive past belonged to the mail carrier. It was so peaceful to sit undisturbed, gazing out over the farmland meadows, a warm breeze tousling even Dad’s short hair. TJ paused from playing catch with his sister to calmly sit on the bench beside Poppy’s wheelchair and hold his hand quietly. That image is frozen in my mind. “Whose yard are we in?” Dad wanted to know.
Something tugged at my memory to recall a day similar to this one: warm, sunny, with bright blue skies and blossoms everywhere, the world alive with spring, yet something dying inside of me. May 4, 2007. The neurologist confirmed what we had known (yet hoped wasn’t true) for some time. Alzheimer’s. As I dropped Mom and Dad off at home that day following the appointment, Mom quietly said in a hollow voice that still rings loudly in my ears, “Somehow the day just doesn’t seem quite as pretty anymore.”

Today, as I scanned the scene before my eyes, I reflected on what I can truly be thankful for in all of this:
...So far, since the day of the diagnosis, we have had three more years with Dad.
...My children have all had the chance to know their Poppy. Tonight at bedtime prayers all three of them prayed, “Thank you, God, that we could go to see Poppy today.” (TJ added “because I haven’t seen him in a while”---it hadn’t even been a week!) And Carly added, “and thank you that Grammy and Poppy are married” (She has weddings on her mind, preparing for her role as “flower girl”!) Recently, Dad looked directly at Emily, raised his finger to point toward her and said, “that’s my girl, right there.” She quietly said, “I know, Poppy.” And the tears fell silently without him seeing her wipe them from her cheeks.
...Dad is in a peaceful, pleasant environment. Oh, how thankful I am that he could be moved away from the other facility! There we would never have had the privacy (or the room) to enjoy an afternoon visit on a spacious front lawn in serenity and quiet, surrounded by nature’s beauty.
...Dad can still go outside! Carly asked Poppy, “Can you walk? Do you want to walk to the van?” “Well, Carly, maybe some other time.” He can’t walk, but at least he can still enjoy being outdoors.
...He still knows us and loves us. He told Mom recently that he “wouldn’t trade her for the whole world wrapped in gold!” Emily took her piano books along today to play for the other residents. Dad wanted to hear her play, “later,” he said. As we were leaving, Dad was settled into bed for a rest. I told him I had to go to work. “That’s no fun,” he responded. I asked if it was OK if Mom watched the kids for me. “No!” he said, “I’ll watch them…. Those kids of yours are dear.” “Well, Dad, they are a handful.” “Would you expect them to be anything else otherwise?”
And my heart is grateful as I ponder the truth in the words from Alfred Lord Tennyson: “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Thank you, God.

Spring time visitors!