The Long Goodbye

 In my introduction post I touched on the fact that life is like a river in which you have no control over where the current takes you.  The past two years taught me that the hard way.  I know that the world seems crazy these days, thanks to all sorts of political weirdness, and COVID, and just about everything else, and we've all had a lot to deal with, but for me personally 2020-22 was the worst onslaught of hard lessons I've ever had to contend with.  

I came out the other side with flying colors, despite many nights spent not thinking I would, I could, or that I even wanted to.  Warning: this post is going to be raw, so if you can't take heartache or don't want to hear this kind of thing, this is your sign to turn back.

Almost four years ago, my family and I moved to North Carolina.  My wife had a fantastic job opportunity, and coming from Maryland, it was going to be an exciting change of pace.  I remember coming to North Carolina for family vacations as a child and they are some of my fondest memories.  I hated Maryland with a passion my entire adult life (that's a whole other series of posts) but suffice it to say, North Carolina was not a hard sell.  

We settled in, and for a while, all seemed fine.  Beginning in 2020, we as a family (myself, my wife, and my mother) began to notice some serious changes in my dad.  We'd noticed it to a far lesser extent as far back as maybe 2018, but 2020 was when it was no longer reasonable to deny that something was off.  Every time we'd come and visit, my dad would call multiple times.  It seemed harmless enough.  Almost sweet that he was so excited.  But as time went on, we began to notice the frequency of the calls increased dramatically, and the content of the conversations began to repeat.  

Of course, nobody suspects the worst.  We thought it was normal age-related forgetfulness, though my dad was just a touch over 74 years old.  Hardly ancient.  Things started to click for us.  For a few years, he'd been occasionally saying things that were either inappropriate for family gatherings (a little risque or vulgar) and just making comments that seemed like they would better have been left unsaid.  This got dramatically more frequent.  He would sit and watch baseball for hours...almost entire days.  This alone was unusual in that I can count the number of times he watched sports up until this point on two or three fingers.  

He was on his computer less and less, and always had his phone in his hand. Unlocking it, swiping around, relocking it, and repeating the process.  He was smoking less and less.  Some days not even at all.

I was talking to my mother on one of my visits and she said he was calling her at work upwards of 30 times a day and it was becoming a problem.  I remember going into his den when he was occupied in another room and going through his phone.  There were dozens of phone calls to random people that lasted 10-30 seconds.  Text messages that were jibberish.  Photos of his finger over the camera lens.  

Still at this point, I chalked it up to being 74 and left it at that, short of tweaking the settings on his phone and deleting some contacts that he probably shouldn't be randomly texting at 3 am.   I began to get concerned about him falling for a phone scam or something like that.

Then, and I can no longer remember when, he became much harder to engage in conversation, and when we tried it would inevitably dissolve into either him zoning out or not making much sense.  It was pretty easy to tell that he was having a hard time following a conversation.

My mother started making inquiries and got him to a doctor.  It was around this time that my wife and I convinced my mother that it might not be a bad option for them to move to North Carolina as well so we could help because it became quite clear that taking care of my dad was becoming more and more time intensive.

We started driving up nearly every weekend to help pack and clean and get ready to sell their house.  Dad remained in his chair, transfixed to the television.   He really only moved when it was time to eat or go to bed.  And soon, even eating became difficult.  He began to pick at his food.  It was only later that we realized he was beginning to forget what utensils were for.  Or even that they were there.  Sometimes he'd just stare at his food until we fed him.

Days before my mother signed off on the sale of her home, my wife decided she wanted to move on, and she told me she was leaving.  This was unexpected to say the least...after 20 years.  (This I won't really touch on because it was relatively amicable and I'm respectful of her privacy.) Despite this, and the fact that I've absolutely dealt with it and moved on, at the time it was a pretty rough blow to take in light of no longer having that support system.

At the time of the move, my dad's neurologist in Maryland had diagnosed him with age-related cognitive decline.  I called bullshit on that immediately...but I'm also not a doctor.

As my parents got settled in, we had a good (comparatively) 6-9 months where my dad was still somewhat mobile, but we were starting to notice other things.  He would aimlessly wander off in stores unless one of us was actively holding onto him.  Which, at times made him angry.  He would be confused as to where he was, and frequently got away from my mom when they went out together.

We eventually got him a wheelchair as his gait was getting stiff and he tended to shuffle and be a little unsteady on his feet.  This made it somewhat easier to manage him out and about. At least as far as keeping track of his whereabouts.

His mouth, however was a different story.  He never really had a problem saying what was on his mind and this became a real problem.  

Around this time, the doctors in North Carolina confirmed what we already knew.  It was in fact not age related cognitive decline, it was Alzheimer's.  Oddly, it was a little bit of a relief.  Not that it made dealing with him any easier, but we knew that someone else knew. If that makes sense.

At this point, any time my mom was gone from my dad's immediate line of sight he would almost have a panic attack.  Pacing around the house, moving items, carrying items to random places, yelling for my mom from both doors, and from room to room.  I had to install security cameras with motion sensors to alert me if he got up in the middle of the night because there were a few times where he turned on the stove, turned on faucets and let them run, and at one point tried to use the washing machine as a toilet.  He also did leave the house on a few occasions when we were asleep.  We would take him to the doctor and he would just sit there and stare straight ahead and we had to lift him out of the car because he couldn't understand it was time to get out.  Rinse and repeat getting him back into the car.  

He would scream and curse at traffic, and attempt to open the doors as the car was moving.  Sometimes he would jiggle the gearshift while we were driving.  He was constantly fiddling with air vents and power window and door lock switches.  It was exhausting.  It was so hard to see.  

And then, it got worse.  Slowly, he began to call my mom different names.  Not all of them good.  Around the same time, he would fly into a rage at the sight of me. I was called every name you could possibly imagine at one time or another.  I'm sure him forgetting me was made easier by my rapid weight loss.  After dropping from 325 to 139 so fast, even my mom didn't recognize me at first.

Almost overnight, he went from constant rambling and yelling during angry outbursts to almost completely silent.  He stopped getting up without assistance. During the middle of the night he would get out of bed and we'd find him curled up on the carpet in the morning.  My mom and I struggled to get him up, and it was almost round the clock cleaning and bathing.

At that point, we got hospice involved and they brought a medical bed for him.  We thought the rails would make it less likely he'd get out of bed. It did.  From that point, he never got out of bed again.  He slowly stopped responding to us, began to sleep more and more and finally one day in June began to breathe differently. About two days later he left us.   

Two months later I signed my divorce papers. One month after that I lost my cat of fifteen years, whose brother passed away earlier in the year.

Despite all this I kept breathing. I kept moving. Those events profoundly hurt but they profoundly changed me and reignited my drive to be the best me I can, and to make as much out of the time I have left in this world as possible.  If you're reading this, I wish that for you too. Be authentic. Be honest, tell your loved ones you care, and do everything and anything you can with them, for them, and for yourself.  

In this action packed adventure we call life, there's only one showing.  Do something with it. Open yourself up to possibilities because they will be there. I'm cheering for you.