Chapter 13: Focusing on Daddy

Focusing on Daddy

Just weeks after my mother's passing, my sister Marlene came up from Florida to visit her son Gregg, who lives in southern Wisconsin on the opposite end of the state from me. When he learned I was going to be visiting my father, Marlene and Gregg, along with his wife and young daughter, decided to drive up to see him as well. Living so far away, Gregg had little opportunity to see his grandpa and we could all have a family reunion of sorts. I think Mom's death made it painfully clear to all of us how uncertain the future can be, and visiting my father became our number one desire now.

The Saturday we all met up at the care facility, the weather was beautiful. I was happy we would be able to take my father outdoors. We found Dad napping in one of the recliners in the day room when we arrived. I gently roused him and walked beside him to his room where everyone was waiting. Realizing his memory was quite cloudy, I helped him out. "Marlene is here from Florida and Gregg and his family are here as well." With that, he smiled broadly, happy to be the recipient of so much attention.

It was extremely warm on the unit that day, but Dad was content wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt. My sister and I looked at each other as if to say, "I'd wilt wearing that!" But Dad, like many elderly persons, no longer got enough exercise to keep warm and he needed the heavier clothing.

The nurse got him settled into a wheelchair and we headed outside. The weather was cooperating so nicely, we planned a long, leisurely stroll around the complex. The large country acreage surrounding the facility looked like a well kept park.

Dad was especially delighted by Kayla, Gregg's four-year-old daughter. She had a ready smile for him every time he spoke to her. While somewhat shy, she cheerfully sat on his lap. It reminded me of when I had been her age and snuggled up for some of Daddy's loving attention. At the time of this visit, she was the only great-grandchild in our small family, making it an extra special occasion.

Before going back inside after our leisurely tour of the grounds, we helped Dad out of the wheelchair and seated him on the park bench just across from the entrance. For the next twenty minutes we all took various group pictures to remember this special four-generational visit.

The September Scare

Just before breakfast one day in September, the nurse at Clark phoned me. "Your dad was found lying on the floor next to his bed this morning." She assured me he was uninjured and in no immediate danger, but he would be going to the hospital for tests to determine what had happened.

Later that day the results were in. Dad had suffered a minor heart attack and another stroke. As the doctor didn't feel he needed to be hospitalized, and he was in stable condition, he was returned to the nursing home. I was assured they would keep me informed on how he was doing.

For several days following his heart attack, Dad was unable to walk. I was saddened to know he was bedridden, but knew he needed the rest as well. It wasn't long before he was able to take short walks in the hallway, but the nurse said now it always seemed to leave him short of breath. Walking had definitely become a chore instead of a pleasure for him.

It was not with much optimism that I planned my next visit with him. I really didn't know what problems he would have remembering and communicating. The first stroke had destroyed so much of his memory. What additional losses had occurred with this second stroke?

Arriving at Dad's unit, I could see him sitting at one of the tables. Would he still remember me? Slowly I approached him, put my arm around his shoulders, and with a cheery confidence I really didn't possess, said, "Hi Daddy, I came to visit you." My heart melted as he responded with a smile and looked into my face. Searching his eyes, I knew he recognized me and for that I was grateful.

My New Father

While the stroke had not snatched his ability to know who I was, it did, unfortunately destroy more of my father's brain functions. Aside from finger foods, he would never again feed himself, and while he was still able to speak, never again would he talk freely in a conversation, expressing his thoughts. Now speech came only as a response, with one or two-word answers.

I was devastated to see these changes in my father, but I tried to find comfort in knowing he was in no pain and appeared content. One day he really surprised me. As we sat watching the live bird exhibit, these tiny creatures somehow "connected" with him. While it didn't last long, Dad became focused intently on the birds, suddenly pointed at them and excitedly exclaimed, "Look at that little one!" I had no idea just which bird he was talking about or why, but for that one brief second, he was so in touch with his surroundings.

I was amazed, but then again, Daddy had always loved animals. So maybe it was fitting that a tiny, seemingly insignificant bird, would have the rare privilege and ability to ignite a spark of life in my father's stroke-ravaged mind. It never happened again, but I feel so fortunate to have been there that one, solitary time, to share the joy of the moment with him.

The only other thing which was able to draw him out a bit was ice cream. I now had to hold the stick, but Dad definitely knew what it was and enjoyed it thoroughly. When I'd ask if it was good, he would nod his head and say, "Yes, Yes!" Even though feeding him ice cream was always a rather messy endeavor, it was usually the highlight of our visits because of my father's animated responses.

A Discouraging Christmas

As Christmas drew near, we brought window decorations for Dad's room and other seasonal trimmings that we thought he might enjoy. He thanked me for everything, but I seriously doubted he would even be aware of any of it after I went home.

This would be my first Christmas without Mom and because of my father's decline after the second heart attack and stroke, it seemed like everything was surreal. Basically, I was just going through the motions. I longed for the days when both Mom and Dad were living in their own home, where they made Christmas so festive and inviting.

As Christmas Day dawned, Bill, Jason and I rose early to deliver our gifts to Dad. We arrived shortly before 11 a.m., giving us plenty of time to play Santa. Gathering in his room, I settled my father into his rocking chair. "Look at all these presents for you," I said, trying to spark a little excitement from him.

This Christmas would be different, however. As I put the first wrapped package onto his lap, I quickly knew his mental abilities had slipped far beyond what I'd been willing to recognize. It was with great sorrow that we all realized Daddy no longer knew how to even open a gift. While he voiced appreciation for them, I had to unwrap each item for him.

I made a point of making sure he made eye contact with each present as they were opened in his lap, but I found the whole visit to be extremely stressful for me. The quality of his life had become barely more than a mere existence, and it hurt deeply to know I was powerless to change the situation. A few hours later, we said our good-byes and Daddy hugged me as always, but before I even reached the elevator the tears demanded to flow.