By Terri Brantley
My father suffered for several years with
Alzheimer’s before his death. The last two of these he lived with my
sister, whose unfailing strength, tolerance, patience, and love
during this time are worthy of tribute. It was her sense of humor;
however, that saved her sanity. During one of my visits, my father
was caught snacking on seashells from an ornamental vase on her
coffee table. I remember wincing at the sound of his dentures
crunching down on those shells. “At least he’s chewing them up this
time,” my sister said, as she calmly removed the vase from our
father’s hands. To him, she said, “Are you hungry? Wouldn’t you
rather have a sandwich or a bowl of soup?”
I also clearly recall laughing hysterically with her as she
recounted his escapade during a visit to an adult day care center.
Our father, before his journey into Alzheimer’s, was extremely,
almost painfully modest, but Alzheimer’s plays cruel tricks with the
brain, and makes people act totally out of character. My sister had
left him at the center, but the staff had called her to come back
and try to coax Dad out of their bathroom. By the time she arrived,
he had come out on his own, but was totally naked and had proceeded
to “streak” his fellow classmates, who were, by the way, all female.
I am sure this was the highlight of the week’s activities at the
center! My sister, her precious free afternoon lost, did not get
upset, but patiently helped the man get dressed.
Throughout the experience, she continually found the humor hidden in
otherwise heartbreaking situations. She seized the fact, during
difficult episodes, that these were not the acts of the loving,
modest, respectable father we had known, but instead, it was the
disease that had taken charge of his brain. An outside observer
might have judged her humor as cold, even heartless, but it was a
vital means of coping, without which she would not have been capable
of making our father’s last years as comfortable as they were. At
times, she made a difficult situation look easy, but I know how
incredibly hard it must have been. I will always be grateful for the
sacrifices she made for our father and our family.
A 40 something year old Aerospace employee,
mother, and housewife; North Carolina based aspiring author, Terri
Brantley, lost her father to Alzheimer’s in April, 2000, after years
of watching him slowly slip away. She writes to share something of
the experience, and as her own method of coping with the loss. Terri
intends to publish a collection of works in the near future
describing coming of age in a large family in the South in the
1970s. Terri can be reached via e-mail; terribrantley@gmail.com.
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