Tonight's picture was taken in November of 2008. Mattie was recovering from his second massive limb salvaging surgery. Mattie's right leg, left arm, and left wrist were operated on and therefore the only fully functioning limb was his left leg. That left leg got nicknamed, "Curious George." As you can see Mattie was able to use his foot and toes just like a hand and fingers! I am grateful we could play computer games together and we tried very hard to keep Mattie busy and entertained. But it was challenging as the room was small and of course the pain was great!
Quote of the day: To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularities of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to? ~ Jeanette Winterson.
There was an incident on Friday at my dad's memory care center. Though that was yesterday, he is still referring back to it. When I picked my dad up on Friday afternoon from the center, I could tell something was wrong. My dad's face was completely flush and as soon as he saw me, he told me that something happened and he was very upset. So I helped him to the car and he talked the whole way home! That may not sound like a big deal, but I am telling you that is MASSIVE. My dad doesn't talk much and typically when I ask him how his day was at the center, he has NO idea! That alone is frustrating because I would like to share in his day, but I have learned to just go with it. My dad is trapped in his own head and typically doesn't remember something that happened 30 seconds later. But I think Friday's incident was an emotional experience that frightened him.
Apparently two participants at the center started fighting with each other in the lunch room. My dad claimed not to have seen the actual fight, however, he told me that his friend was punched in the stomach. My dad also saw another participant screaming, carrying on, and saying... "I'm going to kill you." I believe that statement was directed to the person starting the fight. Needless to say, my dad took the "I'm going to kill you" quite literally. Though the staff tried to reassure my dad and said they had things under control, that did not bring any peace to my dad. My dad is still so worked up about this that he doesn't want to go back on Monday.
Needless to say, I wrote to the staff on Friday afternoon, soon after I got my dad home and settled. I wanted to know if this incident actually occurred and if so what the specifics were around it. I also wanted the staff to know that my dad is upset and feels unsafe. My dad went so far as to say..."perhaps we should call the police." The staff responded right away to my email and they told me they spoke to my dad, as they could see he observed some of what occurred, but then they assured me he participated in the rest of the day's programs without a problem. So I responded back and said that maybe true, but my dad was still quite frightened and uncomfortable, so whether he participated in the activities was irrelevant to me.
To see the changes in my dad due to Alzheimer's Disease is quite remarkable. A once mentally strong and capable person has been reduced down to very child like behaviors. Certainly I am saddened by this huge loss and the rapid progression of the disease, but frankly given the caregiving tasks I perform each day, I do not spend a lot of time dwelling on the loss. If I did, it would be hard to function and it would also be detrimental to my dad. I am aware of these losses, they can frustrate and depress me at times, but at the end of the day, my dad is still my dad, and I accept him as he comes.
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