It’s a year later – and I’m reposting this one because I’m thinking about my Dad again and I still like what I wrote back then!
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Yesterday would have been my dad’s 80th birthday.
He died five years ago after a major stroke (the final of many in the last months of his life). From what I’ve read, strokes are common in Alzheimer’s patients – one of the ways that disease corrodes the brain.
So I’ve been thinking about him a lot today & about the things I remember.
I remember how he would stand – hands on hips, shaking his head at me when I’d done something wrong – and say “Boy oh boy oh boy… I mean girl oh girl oh girl…” and we’d both laugh.
I remember how, when we’d see each other, I’d say (in German) “So?” – and he’d respond with “So what?” (again in German). Translated into English, it sounds like he didn’t care but it wasn’t like that. It was just a funny little ritual that we had – can’t explain it!
I remember sitting on his lap while he watched the evening news every night, snuggled in and happy just to be close to him. It felt warm and safe – definitely a good memory!
I remember how I would try so hard to stay mad at him – and he’d always make me laugh!
I remember how he taught me to tell time using his “Big Ben” alarm clock (manual wind-up, big round face). I also remember the sound of him winding that clock every night before bed. Funny the things that stick, isn’t it?
I remember how he would stroke the back of my mom’s hand and say “Ach Marichen (Oh Maria)… don’t worry!” That was so like him – calm, optimistic, unruffled and usually making some sort of joke!
I remember going to see him after his first major stroke. He couldn’t walk anymore, he couldn’t talk. He was in the long term care home when I went to visit him. We sat for a long time, me talking – him not seeming to understand or maybe not even hearing me?? When it came time to leave, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. He held on so tight! My mom said it was probably just a muscle spasm, but I don’t think so. I think he knew it was me – if not consciously, then spiritually – and he didn’t want me to go.Â
When you’ve watched your father fade right in front of your eyes, his thoughts and memories disappearing into the fog that Alzheimer’s creates, it’s easy to think you’ve done your grieving for the man he used to be. That moment reminded me that he wasn’t gone yet. I sat down, stroked his hand and told him that I loved him – eventually, he let go of my hand and I was able to leave.
So, out of curiosity, I asked my kids what they would remember about me.
Number one answer? Whine-fest! To explain that a little – one summer day, everyone was just being miserable. Finally fed up, I started whining back at them! We all started trying to out-whine each other until we were all laughing so hard we were crying.Â
And thus began the whine-fests. When it all starts feeling like too much, we pile into the car, put down the windows and WHINE!
What I noticed about the things we remember is that it’s often the silly, funny, laugh-out-loud stuff that sticks. I think it’s a good thing not to take ourselves too seriously sometimes – just laugh and be silly with your kids.
Now that’s the kind of legacy I feel good about leaving behind! This is what my father taught to me – and I’m happy to be passing it on to my own children!
Happy Birthday Dad!
My Grandma has alzheimers and, I too, often think that I have mourned her already as she is not the woman that I used to know. The reality is I miss her terribly and wish every day that my children had the opportunity to know her the way I did.
My number one memory is when I would stay overnight on a foamie in the living room, she would come in the house, after milking cows. (no I’m not ancient — only 37 — they still milked for our family when I was young) — and she would put her cold hands on my back to get me up — I would squeal and she would laugh — our own little ritual. I feel sad for the grandkids after me (I was oldest by 7 years) that they never got to know her the way that I did.
What a terrible disease that took her, and your dad from us before they were gone.
Hi Penny,
It is, indeed, a terrible disease!
When I think back, I did a lot of my mourning for him before he physically left – but what hit me after he died was more about mourning for me, if that makes any sense??
When he was gone, I had to actually admit to myself that I couldn’t run to him anymore. He wasn’t going to be there to make me laugh. I’d never get to ask him more about WWII and all that happened afterwards.
To be honest, it surprised me!
It reminded me to share myself with my children and those around me – so that we can look back on every day and find even a moment of joy, of laughter, of love.
Life will never quit being complicated and overwhelming and uncertain, but it’s the human contact that makes it joyful despite all of that!
Thanks for dropping by!
Heidi