Dad Has Dementia
Week 10: A Single Golden Day to Cherish
Last updated: Mar 19, 2010
When Dad moved in, I naively thought (as I've said before) that the experience would be, I dunno, like a frat buddy moving in. We'd all have a great time, laugh a lot, watch (and talk) sports. We'd achieve some sort of familial nirvana, and then Dad would quietly slip away during the night at some point. Tears would be shed, prayers offered, a eulogy delivered.
At least, that was my fantasy.
The reality has been quite different. We've all "“ especially Dad "“ been going through a difficult adjustment period.
And then, like magic, that familial nirvana moment happened last Saturday.
The day dawned sunny and cool. The perfect day for working outside. But first, Dad and I did a little shopping (for shovels and landscape fabric) and had breakfast at his favorite local eatery.
Dad's an old farmer. He would have stayed a farmer his entire life were it not for Mom's health issues. Dad still loves the outdoors, and part of the adjustment for him has been, simply put, cabin fever. Even here in the high desert, it's often too cold for a frail senior citizen to get outside much during the winter months. And our growing season, unlike Southern California, is not a year-round one.
But now it's March. March, with all its promise of spring: budding trees, vines leafing out, and daffodils showing their lemony heads. Soon, winter will be over.
So, on a picture-perfect Saturday afternoon, Lee and Dad and I trooped outdoors to get some work done in the backyard.
Dad sat on a patio chair and used pruners to snip last fall's sunflower and zinnia stalks into small bits for the compost pile. Periodically, I brought him steaming cups of coffee. Maxine (our dog) alternated between racing gleefully around the yard and sitting quietly next do Dad for petting.
Lee and I used chain link fence pipes to skid a massive piece of old concrete into position as a step into the workshop we recently built. We also dug a shallow trench around the workshop to fill with gravel for catching roof runoff. We wheel-barrowed several loads of dirt onto the compost pile and spread more of it onto low spots in the yard. From time to time, we took a break to enjoy ice water and throw a ball for Maxine.
During the three-plus hours we spent outside, we enjoyed fresh air, plenty of warm (but not burning) sun, and tons of camaraderie. We cracked bad jokes, got dirty, and wore ourselves out.
Dad couldn't have been happier.
Later, collapsing into bed after a good, hot shower to soothe sore muscles, I told Lee long after Dad is gone, when I look back at the time he spent with us, this is the day I'll always picture: Dad sitting contentedly in his chair, working in the dirt. It's a memory I'll cherish for the rest of my life.
- Week 36: What Now? What Next?
- Week 35: Nothin's Gonna Change My World
- Week 34: Is This Normal?
- Week 33: What Does Grief Look Like?
- Week 32: Goodbye and Farewell
- Week 31: Go Ahead and Grieve, but Make It Snappy
- Week 30: Just Like That, It's Over
- Week 29: Hospice Showdown
- Week 28: Is This the Way Hospice Is Supposed to Work?
- Week 27: Suddenly, Dad Is Dying
- Week 26: Taking Stock
- Week 25: Disinherited. Sort of.
- Week 24: What Do We Tell Dad?
- Week 23: The Self-Pity Edition
- Week 22: Dad Is Bad for My Waistline