Dementia - The Silent Killer

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I recently lost my Dad to the effects of Dementia. From what I can conjure, he was struggling with the disease for years, but hid it from his family and friends. He probably didn't even know what was going on with him, but like so many men, he opted not to seek medical attention even when encouraged to do so. Fairly active and in great health, my dad worked way pass the retirement age. In fact it was not until he retired that the disease seem to become aggressive. Once it became clear to us that something was wrong, we encouraged him to go to the doctor.  At first it was subtle things like being forgetful or repeating himself. When pressed, he would always give an excuse why he could not go to the doctor, ie his wife was out of town, he had some pressing business which required his immediate attention, etc.  By the time he got around to visiting the doctor, the damage was done. It was only then that we became aware of the disease and how it has been impacting his way of life. In hind-sight, I would say he was probably struggling with his memory from 2009.

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Once I became aware of his condition, I was determined that my Dad would lick this thing so I read up on the disease and possible cures. I found tons of article promotion both natural and pharmaceutical drugs to help strengthen the brain and ward off the effects of the disease. There were many articles that suggest it was possible to reveres the effects of the disease with natural remedies, i.e., coconut oil, omega 3, etc. I shared everything I learned with my sisters in hopes that they would convey them to his primary caregiver if they were unable to administer them to him themselves. Since I was not his primary caregiver, I can't speak to what steps were taken to curtail the disease, but in the end, he succumbed to the effects. While he was still pretty healthy physically, his mind deteriorated quickly making it difficult for him to remember to do simple things like eat, or drink. In the end he no longer ate, talked, or knew my name. Five months after my last visit with him, he died.

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It is hard for me to comprehend how a vibrant man with his whole life ahead of him could be reduced to a vegetable state where he knew nothing of his existence let alone participate in sustaining his well-being.  I blamed myself for not doing more, but realistically I know I did all I could, considering my limited/non-existent involvement with his care. My take away from this experience is simply this, pay attention to the elders. Look for any signs they may be struggling with simple every day issues. Are they exhibiting signs of having difficulty recalling words when engaged in conversation and becomes easily frustrated trying to remember? While that by itself may be a sign of just growing older, it can also be a sign that something else is going on.  I may never know what my dad's last days were like as he was unable to verbally communicate his feelings, but I hope he did not suffer. Mostly I pray he had the presence of mind to make his heart right with the Creator before he took his last breath. I got issues - what about you?)i(

OPEN LETTER TO MY DAD

Hi Daddy,

I felt bad at first that I did not get a chance to say goodbye to you the morning you passed but Dahlia helped me see that there was no need to beat up on myself because you already knew I loved you.

The love I have for you grew stronger with time. I don’t have many memories of you from when I was growing up, but the few that I do have are cherished ones. From you coming to see me in your shiny red truck with the ladybug floor mats to that Mickey Mouse watch and mini piano you once gave me. Oh and those times I didn’t mind missing the school bus because it meant I got to walk pass your job at Continental. I would press my face up against the window to get a glimpse of you. Once I was with a friend and I remember pointing at you through the window as I proudly proclaimed, "that's my Dad." You were always GQ ready in your silk shirt, seamed pants, and polished boots. No one dressed better than you.

By far one of my fondest childhood memory is when you came to see me in the emergency room after I had a seizure at school. I was in the first grade. I was scared but you were so gentle and kind. Your voice was soothing and it relaxed me and made me feel I would be ok. It is that voice I will miss the most. Can't tell you how many times I came home from a frustrating day at work only to find your voice on my answering machine. It was always comforting to hear you say, "Laura, this is your father. I just called to let you know I love you." Sometimes you would break out in song. Never knew "Tell Laura I love her" was a real song. Always thought you made that up just for me.

As time went by, we developed an unbreakable bond as I learned to depend you for emotional support. You were the one I turned to for relationship advice. And when life became unbearable at times, you were the one I called. You were never too busy for me. Don't have to tell you how many times you bailed me out of a difficult situation but I was only too happy to return the favor whenever the opportunity presented itself.

It came a point that after an exhausting day at work I would rush home to see if you called. Most times than not you did not disappoint me as there would be a loving message from you waiting for me. At times it was just you letting me know that you were thinking about me and other times it was you reminding me that you were my father and you loved me. And yes there were a couple of times you sang. I tried to hold on to those messages but with power outages and dead batteries I lost them. However they are forever engraved in my heart.

Oddly enough, the more your illness manifested itself, the more frequent your calls. In fact about a year or two ago I would wake up on any given day to over a dozen missed calls from you and just as many messages. They all pretty much said the same thing, "This is Ed Gore. Please give me a call." But amongst them there was one which said. "Laura, this is your father. Just want you to know I love you." Then you would break out in song, "Tell Laura I love her. Tell Laura I need her. Tell Laura I miss her and my love for her will never die." I would play that one over and over again. Your soft voice and humble demeanor comforted my soul.

As your memory got frailer and you lost your phone privilege, I would call you often. Mostly because I knew the day would come when you would no longer be able to speak with me. In the beginning our conversations were engaging and a bit challenging as you would ask me the same questions repeatedly. But I didn't mind even when I reminded you that you asked me that already. I didn't fully grasp the fact that your memory was failing you. But in time I just answered your questions no matter how many times you asked. I kept calling long after you could no longer remember my name. Eventually our conversations became difficult as you struggled to coherently express yourself. Simple words were replaced with “the thing.” Talking was a task that became impossible for you and you would eventually stop trying. It didn't matter to me if you spoke or grunted. All that mattered was that you were on the other end of the line.

My last memory of you was when I drove to Florida to see you in March. Really glad I made that trip even if I only got to see you for a "little while." It was the best "little while" ever. I sang and you hummed. We watched music videos on my phone. All the while I held your hand. As I buckled you into the back seat for you to go to the airport, I remember kissing you all over your face and I asked you, "Who loves you?" You smiled and said, "You do!" I smiled then as I am doing now and as I do every time I think of that day. That memory is forever engraved in my mind's eye and has gotten me through difficult days, like today when I am unable to hear your voice.

So while I did not get to speak to you before you passed on that faithful day, I have no doubt that you knew I loved you. You were loving and supportive and gave me great advice. I will miss our lunch dates at Cheeseburger in Paradise, your smile, and our candid conversations. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for supporting me in my endeavors no matter how outlandish. But most importantly, thank you for being my Dad.

You were not perfect, but you were an awesome human being. You were a great man with a kind and gentle soul, but above all that you were and will always be my Dad. I will always remember you. Rest in eternal peace. 

Your loving daughter
Laura aka Yáminah

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