The Beginning of the End
“Buddy won’t take the cookie,” he said. My dad was standing in front of a full-length mirror attached to the wall of his bedroom trying to push the now broken cookie into the hand of his reflection. It was just one more step on the downward trail of dementia. It became evident we had to do something a couple of months earlier when he was staying on his own in a one-story apartment building for the elderly. He woke most of the building up at 4 am when the fire alarm went off. The smoke from a pan on the stove he’d forgotten had infiltrated the hallway and set off the alarm. After that, we moved him into a house with family members to take care of him 24/7.
It wasn’t an easy decision and, though I was tasked with making sure he was taken care of, I didn’t want the other family members left out. As many of us as we could bring together met and we all decided we didn’t want him to be put in an institution. Then we worked on a plan for his care, a plan that all of the family would participate in.
It turned out to be quite a job. People with dementia sometimes act a lot different than their normal personality and Dad was no different. He thought his little toddler granddaughter was a dog, brushing her off his lap and telling her to stay down. He thought her older sister was Mom, his wife, who had passed away seven years before and tried to kiss her. She does bear a resemblance to pictures of Mom when she was young and she and Dad had just gotten together. His reflection became Buddy, his friend, and he woke up in the middle of the night certain that guns and bombs were going off outside in the yard, a symptom of his untreated PTSD, a present he brought home from WWII.
Dad was a good man and he tried to keep himself moving and in shape. Most mornings he would take his walker out and run a couple of blocks then walk back to the apartment or the house. He did this until about three or four months before he died at the age of 93. Dad would also sing. He would suddenly break out in song with his beautiful voice and sing one of the old songs he learned while growing up. Everyone loved to hear him sing. Occasionally he would binge on chocolate or bribe someone to buy him a bottle of wine, but most of the time he took good care of himself until the onset became quite serious.
I started a novel that includes these experiences to honor my dad. The book is dedicated to him and some of the writing is based on real events. I had never done a novel before, but it seems it has come out quite good. The ratings on Amazon and elsewhere are high as are the comments I have gotten in person. I just wish Dad could have been able to enjoy it as well. He was an avid reader and though he was my most vocal critic, I’m sure he would have loved this book.
The important part about Dad’s care in both the real event and in the novel is that the patient is more than just a patient. He’s Dad. He’s Grandpa. He’s Grandpa Great. And the family, people who know and love him, provided his care making him more comfortable than he would have been in an institution with strangers. We all felt really good about what we did despite the difficulty.
The book does take off from the story of loss to include a plot that is important to us in our lives today. Robert, the oldest son, and main caretaker is a radical blogger. His radicalism started with an antiwar group he ran in Berkeley, CA during the sixties. In this capacity, he outed an FBI informant and changed the man’s life. This man has been stewing ever since and has just landed a job as a security firm manager contracted out to the NSA to find radical bloggers online. The surprising twists in this story will keep your eyes glued to the page.
I urge you to visit my website to view the book trailer, listen to the radio interview and read reviews of the book. Just follow the links below. You won’t be disappointed.
Website : Interview, trailer