The Clearest I Can Explain It

If you haven't yet, please read my previous blog. Thank you.

Now, here's what this is like, to live with and love someone with FrontoTemporal Dementia.
The person my dad has become is nearly a 180-degree turn from the man who raised me. The condition he has turns people to hedonists, interested only in food, lazing about, about whatever feels good. Impulsive. Orally fixated. Appearing nervous. Imagine your best friend is your best friend because you share a love of Fleetwood Mac. Then one day they tell you to turn off "Rumors" and, in fact, they couldn't even tell you which band y'all were just listening to. Then they tell you how much they hated the sounds they heard. Was all of this a sham? Was it all a lie, the whole bond? Do you stop being friends?

My dad needs his family and his friends more than ever right now. And the emotional tools we have always seem small, inadequate, dull. And even if I knew exactly what worked, the frustration comes from a consistent need to use them, when I NEVER thought I would need to know, nor use these tools. Hanging out with my dad can go from discussions of religious freedom to reminding him to use the restroom before we get in the car. This is not a pity plea. This is not martyrdom. This, simply, Is.

But again, as you read in my previous blog (I hope) I have so much love and encouragement that I can't possibly fail. I can only grow and learn. And I hope that somewhere inside of my dad he knows that I love him as he is because of who he always was.

That's what he taught me: Love. The rest is pointless. Now that you're almost done reading this, why don't you ring someone you love and tell them so?

Thanks again. Massively f'ing love ya.