2/21/2006
You were not invited. Through the windows of his soul you came as quietly as a thief, searching his possessions, taking what seemed useful, leaving behind half empty boxes. Pictures of his life thrown carelessly by the wayside, barren walls reflecting the cruelty of it all, shining a spotlight on what no longer remains. He stands there - confused. Was someone here before? Where did his life go? Why can't he remember? He laid it there on the nightstand, his self-respect, but now that's gone too. You couldn't leave anything behind, could you? The things you take, the objects that litter the backseat of your car, they are just fragments that are meaningless to you - to him they are moments that define him. The faces once drawn in pencil on the canvas of his mind, have been erased yet tiny specs of dust remain to cast a shadow on his last bit of hope. He can almost see it, his past. But the moments seem to slip so quickly from reality that some part of him wonders if he ever really existed at all. Was he real? We tried to make you give back those things you stole. But thieves have no conscience. You were not invited so please, go home.
Some of you may have read about my step father having Alzheimers, some of you may be reading this post wondering what the hell I'm talking about. The truth is that sometimes even my own mind feels burglarized but somehow I'm still whole. Tonight my mother told me that the time has come to put this magnificent man into a nursing home. The mere sound of those words clash so violently against my heart that I can almost feel it breaking inside my chest. I knew it was coming, that time. But I've become so good at pretending that I actually thought somehow, he'd get better. Better at remembering. Better at dressing himself. Better at being - the man I love so dearly. But he can't. I want you to know that this life we have, whether it's one you are thankful for or not, it's one you will want to remember some day. Remembering makes you free, forgetting ties you to a prison you will never escape. I hope that no matter what the memory, you always choose to remember. Some day, you might not have a choice.
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I see you,
JJ
PS: I have had anyone close to me with Alzheimers. I can only imagine.
My nana died of Alzhiemers over 6-7 years ago now.
My mom suffers from dimensia, and is a nursing home now.
The disease does rob you of the person you knew. I won't lie to you.
Hold on to the memories for him.
Write them down, as you do. Share with us.
It's hard, I know.
I have a picture of my nana sticking her tongue out at me while I am photographing her.... showing the true nature of her personality, which was fun, upbeat, caring.
I will not forget her.
No one can take that from me.
For now.
You're in my thoughts over this. And also, the ending to your post was so powerful and such a good point.
I can imagine this is very difficult but you have a magic about you I just know your Step Father will have in his spirit forever.
Thinking about'cha ~
I remember when we had to put my grandfather in a home and it isn't an easy choice. Sit with him, read to him and tell him stories of life with him as you knew it. I believe that there is a part of one's heart that still remembers when the sunshine fell upon their path. God bless you all.