Thanksgiving

Just a few thoughts put together quickly as we finish out the day:

Dad often doesn’t know what day of the week it is or the holiday we’re celebrating. I’m thankful he remembers the days of the week and the holidays at all. 

Dad comments sometimes that he doesn’t even know if his siblings are alive. I’m thankful he remembers he has siblings and knows who they are when we talk about them. 

We don’t know how much longer Dad will remember he has siblings or know them when he sees them. I’m thankful all four came for his birthday at the beginning of November to make memories.

Dad’s reality is that any neighborhood we drive past is the one in which he lived while in high school or where family lived. I’m thankful when Don, Paul, Lucy and Tim were here and spent three days of “remember when …” I’m thankful Dad knew who they were talking about and could participate in the conversation, even initiating some stories and confirming other details. (More about that in another blog.)

Dad has trouble telling jokes, even ones he has known for years. I’m thankful he still understands many of them and laughs, particularly at numbers 53, 76 and 117. (There’s a joke where someone just says a number and the other person laughs because they’ve told the jokes so long they don’t have to tell the joke, just the number of it. When I’m telling him jokes, I can just say, “And then there’s 47,” and he’ll start laughing.) 

Dad struggles with so many meals—chili dripping from a hot dog at James Coney Island, trying to cut his fried chicken instead of eating it with his fingers, getting dangling foods (melted cheese on enchiladas or spaghetti strands) on his fork. I’m thankful he’s always up for going out for a meal and still loves Jimmy’s and fried chicken since those aren’t Mom’s favorites, and I have someone to go with. 

Dad has to look for the door handle in the car every time he gets out when he’s a passenger whether it’s the third or fourth time in one excursion or a couple of weeks between trips. I’m thankful he’s aware of what he needs to do to get out and is still able to go out and is perfectly willing to ride with me. (No snide comments about my driving.)

Dad is limited in where he can drive and has to have someone tell him where to go, sometimes even within our neighborhood. I’m thankful he is still able to drive, and we were able to renew his license online. We’re still going to have to take his keys away at some point, but not yet. 

Dad sees granddaughter Meghan only every two or three months. I’m thankful he knows exactly who she is when he sees her and when we talk about her. We never have to say, “Terry’s daughter.”

Dad sometimes asks me how many dogs I have—if I still have three. I have to tell him again how I had to put Chloe down last April after she collapsed. It hurts to remember that. I’m thankful he remembers I have dogs and how many I had at one point. I’m thankful that my stories about the Wonder Twins, especially Rosie and her squeaky tribble baby, and Chase trying to get squeaky tribble baby, make him laugh. 

Dad’s not going to ever get better. There’s plateaus within the deterioration, but he’s always going to get worse. I know exactly where the dementia is going, and I abhor it. I hate the shadow he already is of his former self and that at some point he will be only a shell unless God intervenes and takes him home soon. I’m thankful that for now I’m able to connect with him so much of the time, often pull him out of a bad mood or soothe a difficulty, help him remember, have a burping contest, make him laugh and flash that great smile of his. I’m thankful for living a few doors down from them and working from home so I can be there literally in a minute at a full run if there’s an emergency. I’m thankful that my sister lives nearby and we work together so well. I’m thankful for Mom’s sweet spirit and patience with him even when she gets so frustrated with and sometimes angry at Dad, the situation, the disease. I’m thankful that although our family is spread around the country, if we need them, they will be here as fast as they can drive or as soon as they can get a flight. No questions asked except, “What can I do?” I'm thankful for a friend who walked almost the same path we are (also caused by medications) who is there for me when I need to talk or cry and truly understands and empathizes. I’m thankful that people are working to slow the progression and perhaps prevent dementias so others don’t have to go through this. I’m thankful for those who have gone before in it to help us through and that we will be able to do that for others until a cure is found. I’m thankful to know that we are not alone in this—others have experienced the same situations, friends help out with daily needs and emergencies, family is always there for us, and God is always in control and always good. 

In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. I Thessalonians 5:18