The Reality Of Dementia

Dealing With Dying

2008-11-24T16:13:00.000-08:00

In my dad's passing, this is the closest I have ever been to a death. It is the heaviest weight I have ever carried, and the lightest of burdens to bear, as I have only love and respect for my dad.

His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.

I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.

In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.

I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.

I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.

After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.

My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.

A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?

After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.

Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.

I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.

Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.

Amen.

Gerry Lott. My Dad, My Hero.

2008-11-16T00:01:00.000-08:00

Geoff & His Dad, Gerry. Georgia, 1976

Thank you Dad.
For everything.
I love you more than I can ever tell you.
You were the best I could have hoped for, and greater than I deserved at times.

October 26, 1943 - November 16, 2008
That dash there, that was a hell of a great life.

If you would like to, please make a donation of any size to the Alzheimer's Association. As our Baby Boomers age, this organization's efforts will be more necessary than ever before.

Memorial Celebration Services will be this Saturday, November 22, 2208.

Maple Valley Presbyterian Church
22659 Sweeney Rd SE
Maple Valley, WA 98038

Update on Dad

2008-11-09T14:08:00.000-08:00

The past few months have been a serious sea-change for the Lotts, Geoff & Alicia version.

As we prepared to move to Los Angeles, I struggled a lot with the thought of leaving my family and the only life I ever knew. Leaving my dad is especially hard, but there's so little I can do even if I'm in the next room. He's got great care at Rozi's, and he's close to family and friends. Overall, however, he does need some prayers.

Within the past few months he was having small seizures, and has been put on some meds to control them. This worried me, as it may be a sign of impending, larger problems. The other day he had a high fever and went to the hospital, diagnosed with pneumonia. This REALLY worried me, as he's not in a position to move around much. The thought of my dad suffering through illness at this point in his life is too much to fathom. We've all had "the talk" about "extraordinary efforts" that would, or would NOT, be taken in order to save our lives.

Many of the lessons I learned from my dad have been learned YEARS later, long after he was teaching them to me. About having goals, saving money, being compassionate, loyalty, and hard work. He was an example of all of these. In this time of his life I know he deserves these things from me, so it is hard to not be there to show him. However, I can, and do, and WILL, impart these daily.

An Update On Dad

2008-03-27T12:52:00.000-07:00

Thank you all for your concerns and asking after my dad, Gerry. Again I say, these are questions of true love and interest in him and us as his family, and it shows what kind of man he truly was, consistently, through all the years of his life.

He's always been Dad to me. Yes, he worked for 3 decades at Boeing. He had many roles in his life, from his love of ushering at our church to the landscaping of a lakefront near our home in Maple Valley. And through all of those times I wasn't around him, he was always the Good, funny, kind, caring Gerry Lott that I knew at home.

So, lately here's what's up with dad.
He's been at a place in the South Bellevue area for about a year. He's in a wheelchair now, much easier to get around with him, and we'll swing by and take him out for a wheeling 'round the neighborhood he's in. He can't speak to us, and it makes me wonder if the dreams I have of him, healthy and dressed in a suit, where he DOES speak to me about how he is doing are his way of talking to me, or just a delusion of mine that accept and embrace. I miss our conversations a LOT, especially as I swim wildly through the somewhat calm waters of my first years of marriage.

He gets to watch a lot of the Golf Channel, which I'll go watch with him while I chat about whatever's going on in my life. If something strikes him a certain way, he'll look as though he's about to cry, but that's common among some with dementia. It never progresses to crying, but it's as close to laughter as many can get. I know that crying and laughter can coincide, especially if you watch my early stand-up videos. Eeeeesh.

The fact that he's now much closer to us is great. Still I don't see him as much as I feel I should. It's now just about honoring him. I don't know if he can understand us, what he feels, nor what he wants to say. All I know is that I have a lot to apply in my life about how to always comport one's self.

Also, a big Thank You to Rozi and Mike at Rozi's home. She is the caregiver who watches over 4 residents, and has such a compassion and empathy and love for those in her care, she is really an angel in our world. Those who dedicate their life to the care of others, for the sake of seeing they get the care they deserve, surely hold a special place in the Ben & Jerry's Hall Of Names, and should have ice creams named after them.

Thanks for checkin' in!

A Safe, Effective Treatment for Mental Issues?

2008-01-17T21:22:00.000-08:00

Part of all this writing I do is to get some knowledge out about my dad's disorder, and some possible ways to counter-act it.

By the time I had found a few natural options that may have helped, my dad was rather advanced in his dementia. It's an UGLY disease. The changes it puts your loved one or friend through aren't pleasant. And the amount of drugs that they could be on is just as harrowing.

I have more than a slight distrust in Big Pharma, because of how the past 2 decades have seen a rise in ADD and ADHD. Also, computers, cell phones, more news coverage, "Cop Rock," caffeine on every corner, and energy drinks (what are we staying awake for?), are more prevalent than ever. Big Pharma capitalized on all of it by screaming into the ears of the slightly tired "YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, HERE'S A PILL." Money money money money.

So I search for natural cures that cannot be patented.

If you have, had, or are most likely somebody who other people think has...

stress,
bipolar disorder,

(manic depression),
ADHD and ADD,
depression,
alcoholism,
aggression,
Post Traumatic

Stress Disorder (PTSD)

Alzheimer's

Then PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, look into LITHIUM OROTATE or LITHIUM ASPARTATE. It's a naturally occurring chemical that affects the chemical pathways of the brain's Frontal Lobes, where your personality and decision-making are held.

Lithium Carbonate is the one that is medically Rx'ed. This is natural, safe, and inexpensive.

Just worth a look, ya know? I'm going to see what it does for me.
For STRESS, I mean.

A Realization of This Human Life

2007-10-22T16:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon my wife and I went to visit my dad.
His new home is much better for him to be at, the care he gets is superior and it feels much better to have him there.
As we sat with him and talked about Katie and Brian, their wedding, their forthcoming "blessed event," I started to realize how much more life we have to live, much of it without my dad. Not to sound morose or macabre, I pray that his life is as God will's it. But really, as my father lost his ability to communicate and move, we have lost most of my dad. It's sad, this condition. It's more brutal on the family of the person, as I'm sure there are people who have handled it with less aplomb and grace than we have. Not that we've been perfect, but our Faith and our Friends and our togetherness has really helped us through it all.

I realized something that really made me sad, also. My wife will not really get to meet my dad until we're all in Heaven. It made me think of how long she must go without really getting to talk to him and spend time with him. He would really love Alicia, and be very proud of her and the work she puts into being an incredible wife, and somebody who is really finding her spirituality.

In the meantime, we have begun looking at all of those necessary insurance options as couples, and Long Term Care is right there. I pray we will never need it, but if so, yep, we should get some. I pray that I will be healthy and Present well into my 80s or 90s. Gotta think positive.

In the meantime, thank you all for your prayers and well-wishes.

Dad's New Home, and the Toasting Of Nuptials

2007-02-14T12:17:00.000-08:00

Recently my dad was moved to a smaller care home, a place that he can have more one-to-one care and access by caregivers. It's a house, not an apartment-like building, and immediately he has brightened up. He seems more peaceful and responsive. The last place he was in was unable to provide the kind of care we know he deserves, and it was causing too much worry. He needs a place to Live, not a place to simply Be.

He's about 30minutes closer to me and my fiancée and I, which is great. I'm able to go see him at a moment's notice, and it's not a 2 hour trip on a weekend. It's nice to just spend time with him and talk to him. At this time he is unable to speak, communicating mostly with facial gestures and grabbing our hands. He is still there, though. His spirit pushes him, and each of us, forward.

As I near my wedding day on Feb. 24th I really want a way to honor my dad. My mom made a great point in that my dad would want that day to be about my fiancee and I, not about him or anything external. I realized that's true, and so I will write a short piece into my toast and welcoming of guests that will reflect upon him as much as it reflects on everyone who comes.

And at this time I am really missing him more than ever, wishing he would be there to celebrate and share that day with me. We're planning a small re-wedding ceremony at his new place also, to have him be part of us getting married. That was entirely my fiancee's idea. That's a big reason why I am very happy, excited, and lucky to be marrying her.

More to come! Thanks for your prayers and well-wishes.

Have I Told You Today...

2006-09-28T15:12:00.000-07:00

... that I love you?

Those words were uttered to me every day of my life, for as far back as I can remember, from my dad. He usually had told me by that time, but it's always a great way to put a day into perspective. Tell your closest people that you love them today, and tell them tomorrow. Put it on Repeat. Let that sentiment ring through your life. Love, as a verb.

I have been receiving some great stories about my dad's childhood from his friends in Georgia. In my head I imagine so much of his youth being played out in black and white, since all the TV shows from that era came across in those colors. He and his friends did a lot of "Boy Power" projects. Building their own baseball field, complete with dugout. A garage-based radio broadcast booth, hunted down and shut off by the FCC. General mayhem.

My dad's condition progresses, his ability to talk nearly all but gone. I still have dreams where he and I are standing near one another, and he's talking from the side of his mouth, giving me advice as we stand aside from a situation that serves as "the bad example," the "what not to do." My dad's advice in my youth was simple: Be careful because some people aren't, save 10% of every dollar you earn, love 'em all, have fun, and I Attract To Me That Which Occurs In My Life.

All of those things were constants in my learning, too. Not the school-learning that I have long since forgotten. I mean the learning that I have read, heard, and/or had info-mercialed into my cortex late one night by some "industry expert." Every time, it comes back to those principles.

Trust your gut, think Positive thoughts, be good with your money now so it's there later, play loose, and be a walking advertisement for Friendliness.

Thanks, Dad, more than I can ever tell you. Love ya.

Memories Come to Life

2006-07-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

It's been far too long since I was able to enter anything here. I had time, mind you, just haven't had the words to share. A lot is going on, as you may well know from this and other postings.

As my fiancee and I begin deciding on the most important aspects of our upcoming wedding (it will be Post-Super Bowl, that is my only real demand), I am constantly missing my father in the oddest of ways. To miss a man who is alive reads like schizophrenia, but knowing what we know, it makes sense. I wish my father could be here to talk with me about this. More than ever, I need his insights on Marriage, Money, and Spirituality. As our day nears to enter the bond of marriage, I really wish he could be here to take it all in with me, and enjoy it.

My dad loves my fiancee, Alicia. Yes, dad loves her. They did meet prior to his quickest turn to his current condition, but he was pretty advanced at that time. When Alicia and I visit dad he's always ready to take a walk outside with us, and likes to be near her. He looks at her in a very familiar way, having accepted her a long time ago, quickly and lovingly. Knowing that makes me happy. He's happy we are getting married. He smiles whenever we talk about it.

On the Fourth of July, also Katie's birthday, dad came to the house for a few hours to be with us, watch some baseball, and just relax. It felt so good to have him at home. My mom also surprised Katie and I with some amazing gifts, reminders of our dad. As soon as I can, I will post photos of what she's given us, but here's a quick description.

My mom took photos, documents, and various keepsake items from my dad's life, and arranged them by era into Shadow Boxes. The mounted pictures kind of told a story about my dad's life, from his days at Coffee County High, complete with his varsity letters and graduation papers, to the day my sister was born.

I have a wonderful display of 6 pictures of my dad in his early twenties, a student at Auburn University in Auburn Alabama. He loves his Tigers, and his love of college football is very strong with me. His pictures are really great, though they look very serious compared to the man I always knew. He looks much like Harrison Ford of that era, strong-chinned, bright eyes, and a hell of a head of hair. I can't wait to share those here.

For my sister, my mom constructed a beautiful set of memories recounting the day she was born, and the special bond Katie and dad have always had. There were pictures of my dad holding my sister as a baby, her head slumped to one side as my dad mimicked his sleepy daughter. A few pictures of my mom, also, in the late months of carrying Katie. My dad's "BCGs" or "Birth Control Glasses" were also in the display, the standard-issue black frames that are once again popular among the bespectacled.

The centerpieces of the display, however, are priceless. On a small sheet of paper is the name Kathryn Elizabeth Lott, written by my dad, the name of his mother, to be given to my sister Katie upon her birth. This small sheet of paper was tucked into the front pocket of a folded-up Arrow men's shirt, a button-down of blue and pale-orange stripes, worn by my dad the day that Katie was born. In all the years and moves and boxes, he never would let go of that shirt, nor misplace it. Other shirts have come and gone, been donated or patched, but that blue and orange men's dress shirt, the one he wore the first time he held his own baby, with his wife by his side, is still with us. Love endures!

And yes, I am unabashedly tugging at your heart. Love someone today, because you can.

====
mailto:geofflottrules@yahoo.com

How About Some Love?

2006-02-09T14:38:00.000-08:00

This story has to be told. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when my Mom told it to me.
=========

My parents, Pam and Gerry, have been married for 35 years. The past 2 years have been some of the most trying and troubling times of their marriage. It has proven the Vow to Love, in Sickness and in Health. Theirs is an example of getting married and the commitment and love it takes to keep things moving.

My dad's condition now has masked him behind a wall of being nearly-catatonic most of the time. His face always looks disinterested, or like he just woke from a nap. His speech is quiet, stuttered, sometimes non-sequitir, but always kind. He shuffles his feet when he walks. He loves a good hug. He doesn't comprehend his changes the way you would when you're fine one day and sick the next, missing how good it feels to be well. Most of his normal capacity for thoughtful planning is gone. This is what happens, among other things, when Dementia has set in.

The other day, Mom went to get Dad and go for a drive. Seattle's had nice weather to compensate for the storm of penalties in the Super Bowl. When it's nice out, my Mom will get my Dad tidied up and head out for a while, to break his routine and spend some time together. They don't talk the way they used to, but sometimes you just need to be around each other to feel good.

They ended up at a local community center, taking a seat near a woman playing some old standards on the piano. When she asked if anybody wanted to hear anything, one gentleman yelled out "Yeah, your car leaving the parking lot." HEEEY, ba-dum-bum.
Mom & Dad are sitting there holding hands, tapping toes, just being near each other. Then my Dad turns to my mom, looks at her, and says...

"I'm glad I married you."

35 years and Counting.

Happy Valentine's Day!
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I want to thank each of you who have shared comments and well-wishes and prayers with me through these writings. You've all made this seem much easier and feel more tolerable. Your care and love for my family is appreciated more than words could ever say.

I have had to disable the Comments for this blog because of a quickly-growing nuisance known as Blamming, or Blog-Spamming. This is where a company with a false profile and no actual blog puts comments in legitimate blogs as advertisements for themselves. When they comment it drives false traffic to my blog, as well as to my mailbox, so I've been overloaded with pointless information even more than if I were to actually pay attention at work. If you would like to e-mail me, you can do so at GeoffLottRules at Yahoo dot com. Spelled it out so webspies can't keep spammin' me. DAMN THE SPAM!!!

The First Christmas Without Dad

2005-12-11T21:43:00.000-08:00

By now you know of my love for my father, and the odd ring of Hell his condition has brought to my family. My mother has been a saint, working her way into all the roles my father used to handle, as well as the roles she has always been in. The friends they've made over the years have become family, stepping forward at a time when nobody could have imagined this happening, and making many days much easier for my mom.

I really hope I will someday find a way to repay those people. I can't thank them enough. In fear of leaving somebody out I will not attempt to name each and all of you. I pray God blesses you with great health and happiness, and to your family as well.
We could not have gotten through this without you. There's just no way.

This will be my first ever Christmas, #32 overall, without my dad. The past 2 months has seen a progression of his condition and the medication he's been on to stave off a few of the symptoms (speaking of odd and violent things very matter-of-factly) has also slowed him down terribly. He was speaking barely above a whisper for about 6 weeks.
Tradtional Western Medicine treats symptoms. It does not consider the soul or the inextricable intertwining of human spirit and it's human being. My greatest fears are that the medication has caused the progression or damage to his wiring, or that he's actually fully cognizant of all that is happening but has no ability to tell us.

I'm working to get some naturopathic views on his condition, to find a way to do anything possible to help him, heal him in some way. It could be a pipe dream but I can't give up and say "I guess this is how God wants it. C'est la vie. See ya, pops." He deserves better than that, and at the very least we will not be driving him further into the grasp of Dementia.

Last Christmas was odd, that's for sure. This one will be even moreso, as we come together as a family, then make our way elsewhere to celebrate and share love with our new families of friends. I know my dad would want us happy, and we will be. But happiness is much different and frankly, if I see too much happiness, I would rather kick it in the shin than join in it's carolling. Rum-pa-pum-pum, Perspective can be a Bitch.

Seriously though, without all the great Christmases I had, I wouldn't miss my dad the way I do, and missing him is what I'd rather feel. To feel nothing would be even worse. Perhaps.

Love your family, your friends, and your own little world. Be good to somebody today.

God bless you. Merry Christmas!

The Long Goodbye

2005-09-30T18:17:00.000-07:00

Heart attack.
Massive stroke.
Embolism.
Aneurysm.
Bear.

Unexpected, quick ways that a life can be snuffed out. What follows would likely be a wave of grief and disbelief for all those close to the deceased. That’s not how it goes when a loved one has a degenerative disease, like my dad’s FTD. I wish it WERE floral, but it’s not.

When you stub your toe, you get pain, and a perspective (P). That P is what you need, something to shake you out of your being so unappreciative of unstubbed toes. And it goes away, and you curse out ever putting the safe in the living room, but hell, your heist went wrong, and you had to beat the heat.

My dad’s mom passed away 30’ish years ago after a long struggle with Alzheimer’s. So I know it’s in the pool, and I’m hoping I can find out if there’s anything I can do to kill the onset of it. Selfish, I know. My dad’s condition has made me think so much about my own health and future that all I can imagine is living until 95, sharp and spry. Like it’s not Hell enough to watch my dad go through it, I will beat it in my old age and then live long enough to bore everyone at the Playboy Mansion with stories about how music used to be on flat, round discs called “micro-chips.”

Late last week my dad was diagnosed as a level 4, which means he’s in the last stage of dementia. It gets not only worse, but WAY worse. A year ago my dad could have a conversation, even if not a very long one, and could convey how he feels to people. Not anymore. He nods off. He stares off. He stutters. He tries to read, so hard he tries to read a newspaper, but can only get through a headline before his attention goes elsewhere. In essence, Gerry Lott as we’ve known him for all these years, is tucked deep within the shroud of Dementia.

And I feel guilty, God knows how I feel so guilty, but if we can’t find a cure, a help, a remedy, I hope for his sake, and the sake of my family, that God take him gently and quickly. I have not given up on him. I am not looking to Western Medicine any longer. It has drugged him to the point that he’s a walking anti-psychotic cocktail. Who knows what’s going on in that poor man’s brain. We need help. We have ideas of what we can do, and hope that it is enough to keep him content and calm.

Again, the guilt of praying for his release from a human experience that is so far beneath the Man my dad always was is tremendous. Is it worse than wanting someone in pain to go quietly? He’s not in pain that can be measured, but if my dad took a step outside to see what he’s become, and what it has done to my family, especially my mom, he, too, would wish for a quick and Divine decision.

My mom has handled this with a truly amazing strength. The dreams she had of traveling with my dad as they got older are gone. They won’t get to enjoy anything together the way they once did. Her husband is gone, but still here, but not, and that’s the hand that was dealt. And she has been strong through it all. Lots of tears, of course. But she keeps going on. Amazing. Helping me, my sister, and many other people through their tough times, when she has the right to sit back and say “NO, not now.” Yet she goes forward with Grace and strength. No wonder my dad married her.

Be Good today.

Zero Balance With The Bank Of The Universe

2005-07-04T14:02:00.000-07:00

I realized that an ego is a defense mechanism against loss of control.
Control is an illusion of order, and vise-versa.
And the moment you think you have it all figured out, your world will evolve because
THAT IS WHAT THE UNIVERSE DOES.

This all comes into view now, and weirdly so.
My father's condition from a year ago to now, advancing steadily. I see my father far less than I'd like to, so each step of his condition's progression is a heavy dose.

In the cleaning and moving of all my things into a new place I found two pictures of the day I graduated college. One of them was me in my mortar and gown, bored mindless on the back-end of a Jameson buzz. The other was me with my Dad to my right, Mom to the left, in front of the University of Washington athletic department offices. That was June, 1996. 9 years ago. My dad's condition likely started 3.5 to 4 years back.

5 years after that picture was taken, it started.
Another picture I love is of my family and I in 1999, on the back deck of our house.
Times in our past marked by pictures that perhaps we weren't as happy as our smile would show. I really wish I knew then what I knew a year ago, and could do SOMETHING.

I actually feel really bad for my friends who have not met my dad. Such a great man. Loving, funny, intelligent, hard-working, a man of Faith, conviction, and integrity.

RING RING RING
Life on line 1!
"Hello?"
"Hey, this is Life. No offense intended, but I don't care about this thing with your dad. I didn't care about Pompeii, Star Wars, Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust, nor the Jesus/Buddhua/Muhammad/Ghandi/Dr. King business. See, I don't care up or down. I have no feelings. I am.."
"... if you say 'What I make of you' I'll shit."
"... grab your paper, son."
"If I remember correctly, and I usually do, your dad used to tell you something so often that he obviously wanted you to remember it. Do you?"
"Hmm... a hard pecker doesn't have a conscience? That was a safe sex thing."
"Wow. If I had feelings I'd laugh at that. That's great."
"He'd high five you now."
"I know. I have no hands, but listen. He used to say... I attract to me that which occurs. Attract good."
"Right, right. It's all in your mind, basically. To believe that good things will happen and regardless of circumstances I can and will always overcome to rise above and evolve to my higher self on the backend of the bummers. He also told me that I could do anything I wanted to do, even if I didn't know how to right then. That I could learn and do anything."
"That's true, too, Geoff. You can. Never too late. You attract to you that which occurs, so attract well, and believe that inside of you is the power or Soul or Intent to do anything you set your mind to."
"So how'd he end up like this?"
(silence)
"Hey, I'm not even a real thing. I don't have answers, just events and records and dates. You'll find out one day. Until then, what are you going to concentrate on?"

Well, that's The Question, idn't it?
What Would Gerry Do?

Thanks for reading. Please say one prayer for my family, especially my mom & dad.
My mom, Pam, is an absolute Rock.
Many thanks to Rod S. for crossing paths with my family again. You are a God-send.
If you think there are no such things as angels, think of this story:
My mom had to deal with the Social Security office for some money regarding my dad. The case was assigned to a man who happened to be the dad of two people I was friends with in High School. Out of everyone, right back into the small world.

I really really miss him.

Why I Care

2005-02-28T00:04:00.000-08:00

Today, Sunday, February 27,2005, my family and I begin moving my dad out of the home he's lived in for 22 years.
We are moving him into a "long-term care facility," or a "rest home," or an "old age home." My mom, sister, and I are facing these fears like canoeing towards a waterfall. We're pulled and tugged and it's scary and people wonder why we don't just get out and DO SOMETHING... we have. We did. We tried. We tried again. We keep trying. Currents move without you in mind. They dictate.

I'll write more when I can. Right now I have to drive to my home town and... damn it... start saying "goodbye" to another part of my life.
Mrs. Garrett never covered this with Tootie on "The Fucts Of Life."
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One story that exemplifies my dad's nature and method of "dad'ing" has to be my Tackling Dummy story.
When I was about 5 or 6, my dad and I went to a swap meet and bought some old pee-wee sized football gear. Pads, helmet, pants, the whole deal. That Christmas I got a Tackling Dummy. We would head out into the back yard, me in full pads, cleats, and a mouthpiece, my dad in sweats, wielding a football and the Tackling Dummy. The T-Dum was a large blue rectangular column, about 5 feet high, with heavy-weight canvas straps. Full of high-impact foam, it was lightweigt but could pack a wallop when swung properly by a 5'6" Auburn University alum working his way up the ladder at Boeing, and the ranks of Kick-Ass Dad.

Dad would throw the ball up in the air, I'd catch it, then have to get past him and the T-dum without hitting the deck, or being decked. Holy lord, he would just CRANK me with that thing. He'd hit me high, from the side, in the hips, right at my feet, and I go ass over eyelids. Then I'd pop up and we'd laugh really hard about how high I got on that last one. It never hurt, it was always fun. We were both just cracking up the whole time.

3 years ago I was ran into a friend of mine who I played football with in high school. He had gone on to play four years in college, and said how much different it was, where the fun wasn't there as much as you had to be almost robotic about it. Very little screwing around, very little gamesmanship, just a bunch of pissing contests. You lose some autonomy and independence, and unless you're way up on the top of the heap, you aren't shit to anyone. Then it dawned on me...
When I was a kid, I really loved playing football with my dad. I was too big to play pee-wee football, even though I wanted to play every year. Youth soccer leagues don't have weight limits, so I learned to dribble for as many as ten feet before powering a shot at a schoolmate's raised hands, shielding the world from his or her screams. I wanted to win.
But since I couldn't play football with the other kids because of my genetic makeup (low-slung, thick-trunked peasant stock), I was never going to be able to play with the other kids. But I wanted to play football, full-pads, full-contact, full-speed hitting and thumping and getting dirty and knocked down and laughing it off and getting back up.
And my dad gave me that. I didn't realize it until 22 years later that I did play football as a little boy, in a game that had no score on a field that was no bigger than my living room, with a man who would do anything to make his kids happy. It was the most fun I ever had as a kid, and the best lesson I ever learned as a man. He still remembers it, and it never fails to get us both laughing again. I don't know that he grasps the importance and love when I thank him. I hope I've thanked him enough and made him proud of me enough times before his condition advanced to where it is now.

So when I write about how hard it is to see my dad's kind and handsome face blankly-masked behind the second stage of his early-onset Dementia, and how I think about how much he has done for me in my life that I am just now realizing the intent and impact of, I never fail to run a full spectrum of emotions. 3 minutes ago I was laughing about the time he whomped me at the ankles with the tackling dummy, and I flipped in the air and landed on my feet for a "touchdown," (just past the end of the awning) and my dad said "THAT WAS GREAT! HOLY SHIT! Don't say that in front of your mom." But now, I'm crying again.

It sucks to feel this. Helpless and almost hopeless and mad at nature and God and doctors and God again, because I can think of about 50 people who deserve to be stolen by Dementia before it ever sniffed my dad's Grey Flannel. But I have been given a lesson to learn. Among the homework is a little chapter on Perspective. I am sad and angry and crying and writing this because I love my dad, because of the man he's been to me and my family, and the lessons he's taught me. The perspective is that I don't cry, I don't feel one way or another about him, and I don't ever think of or talk about or have people he knows express their love and caring about him, because sometimes dad's aren't ready to be dads, for whatever reason. But he was, I was blessed to be "dad'ed" by him, and HOLY SHIT! He was great at it. And I will always say that, even in front of my mom.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

When Your Ideals Seem Like Miracles

2005-02-07T14:11:00.000-08:00

To begin, I must say this again.
To those of you who have shared your stories, kindness, and sympathy with me, I cannot thank you enough. You have shown bravery and selflessness in sharing those things with me, and as much as it's for me, I know that it's for YOU to be sharing, also. We're all being forced into growing faster than we'd like to in these situations, like being pressed into a Play-Doh mold, a thin layer taking the form of someone wiser and stronger, but damn if I don't feel hollow. I don't know when that will fill in. Perhaps it never does? Perhaps you just grow used to it until something reminds you of it, and there's that twinge.

My family is on the cusp of transition, and not a good transition, per se. Transition usually leads to a period of growth that you take with you, if wise enough, and hold on to like a lancing umbrella, perfect for when the fan turns in the face of a crap-pelting. This transition, to me anyway, feels like the beginning of the end. I haven't realized it in words like I just did, and damnit, now the tears are coming to my eyes. Damnit.

We're trying the best we can to treat my dad's condition and keep ourselves sane. My mom has taken the brunt of the condition. Her husband of 34 years has been replaced by a sometimes difficult, impulsive, child-like man who doesn't always remember to close the door when using the bathroom. This is the man who taught me the basics of calculus, jet-powered flight, spirituality, and most complex of all, women. He rarely knows what day it is. He is foreign, and alien, and it's a kick in the stomach.

The biggest question we've had through out of all this is "What are we supposed to do?" Can we heal him, without hurting him? We are feeling our way through this, like seeing-eye dogs led by a fast-walking master. My mom has the most interaction with my dad, and sees all of his ups and downs, riding her own peaks and valleys on a daily basis. She has sacrificed her time, sleep, days, nights, and much of her peace of mind to keep things moving along. Role reversal. Heartbreak. And perhaps now, hope.

My dad, while at Boeing, had invested money into a long-term care insurance program that looks like it will be a financial God-send now. In order to have this insurance take over, however, my dad would have to be in a facility. A home. Like an old-folk's home.
My dad? He's only 61. What the hell happened?
A couple weeks ago he spent a day at a home a few miles from my parent's house. The facility is equipped for the needs of people in all stages of life and dementia, keeping them socially and physically active and entertained. That's something my mom wasn't able to do, since there are so many other needs to meet, like running their budget, exercising, grocery shopping, laundry, and the daily things we all need to do for ourselves.

My dad spends one day there. And he LOVED it. So he went again last week. This time... LOVED it again. So now, our dilemma....
(more to come)

Something More Fun

2004-12-31T01:01:00.000-08:00

First of all, I must tell this to those of you who have e-mailed, called, written, or taken time to talk with me about my dad after reading these posts or hearing the news:

It means so much to me what you have shared, that you have allowed me to share, and that you made yourself open and real to me through your stories, ideas, and kindness. I don't know how to repay that. When I know I can, I will. Until, I thank you from the deepest part of my soul. You have made it much easier to deal with on days I didn't want to deal at all. Life isn't fair, but you each showed me that's okay, and that we all have to keep going.

Okay, back to the crap.
Here's a funny story. Christmas Eve, my family is at church, all of us, even my fidgety dad. I counted in one minute he touched his face every 8 seconds on average, and when he did, it was usually in 4 places. I thought he was giving the youth pastor the "bunt" sign.
Near the end of the service a kid is playing a slowed-down guitar solo of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" while the offering plates are passed around. Prior to this my sister and I had been trading remarks about how one member of the church staff seems to have a certain smugness about their role in the service, as if their presence dictates whether or not it goes off harmoniously, when we get to sit down, etc. If you're from the MVPC and you're reading this, it's likely not you. And don't act like church-going people don't talk about their brethren. Now you have to forgive me. I read that somewhere.
Anywho, the guitar solo's going smoothly until the soloist starts gettin' fancy, trying a couple of pull-offs, which is when you play a note then pull your finger off the string you just picked, like snapping your fingers. It makes a nice little effect for the audience to vibe on.

Part of my dad's condition is that his speech filter is pretty much gone. If he thinks it, he's likely going to say it. Can you see the trouble we're dealing with? The soloist flubs a note, really misses it bad, dead-note mutes the string but his finger slips to another note that's off-key. And the whole church is likely thinking the same things: 1- The Jesus picture's frowning at me, and 2- Whoa, Guitar Jones, did you even practice?

The note goes BLBLP and my dad says "Twank."
I nearly pissed myself holding in the laughter, because he said what we all thought, but with absolutely no malice in his heart about it. It happened, he reacted, and we went on with our day. Aaaah, to be as free as the Dementites.

I love my dad and my family. We're doing the best we can to honor and protect and care for him, but it's taking a serious toll on us. My mom is at her wit's end, and I fear that she hesitates to make decisions based on what other people may perceive. So I'll say this to anybody who thinks ill of my family in this: The only punishment you deserve is to have this happen in your family. You lose your spouse of 34 years, but you still have to care for them. Your kids lose their parent, but have to watch them decline and deteriorate. And there's nothing you can do about it, except pray and do all you can to stay at peace and sane and healthy every moment of every day.

And if you can't laugh at how seriously f*cked Life can be, you aren't worth a damn anyway.

For the rest of you, please re-read the first part of this post.
Happy New Year To Each Of You. Can't love you enough.

Character Building

2004-12-16T09:37:00.000-08:00

Dammit.
Yesterday I took my dad in to see a Naturopath so that he could get some colon hydrotherapy. The benefits of a colonic far outweigh the "stigma." Your entire intake of food, medication, and liquids is processed through your liver, lymphatic system, and colon. The colon is the final absorption point. If it's blocked or not operating properly, your body ceases to filter out the toxins from food, medication, and all that Old Crow you've been drilling. A colonic fully clears out your intestines, as well as resets your lymphatic system, and enhances your liver function.

In doing this, most people become clear-headed to a much higher degree than they thought they were at. You sleep better, think faster, and are, in general, feeling great. The last time I had one was couple months ago after a lot of stress, and I left with a pep in my step. The Naturopath I go to, Gayle at the Healing Arts Clinic, also experienced her father's dementia first-hand. However, through a regimen of colonics and herbal supplements and diet changes she was able to completely turn her father around to being healthy and normal.

So I took a day off of work to be in Maple Valley and take my dad in for a consultation and colonic. He was nervous and fidgety, like a little kid on the way to the doctor. He had questions, he was defiant, he was difficult, then he relaxed a little. We sat in the waiting room for a few minutes, talked with Gayle for about 10-15, and my dad seemed ready to give it a try. We headed into the room where Gayle gave us a quick tour of the equipment and how to get things moving, then she stepped out of the room. I was going to hang in there to help my dad get things situated, as his condition has basically left him with the demeanor of an 8 year-old.

The next 30 minutes was complete and utter frustration, anger, helplessness, and finally Defeat as my dad wouldn't so much as sit on the bed/table for the procedure. He stalled and lied and attempted to distract me from the purpose of our visit. He stared off into space, he turned around, he wouldn't face me, he acted scared, and was stubborn. He wouldn't sit on the bed for more than a second, and then tell me "I'll sit down." He wasn't sitting. He wouldn't sit. He was lying. He was confused, and manipulative. He was pissing me off! He didn't even know he was, and he wasn't trying to, or was he and did he just not care? He didn't want to do it, but dammit, it would help him so much and he just wasn't going to help the situation, and GAWDDAMMIT, it was putting me through the roof! And I had no idea what else to do. It was enraging me and saddening me in the same breath. I was totally helpless. And my mom goes through it EVERY DAY with him. She's a saint to have done this.

After 30 minutes and no launch, I told my dad to get dressed. I was steaming at him, and at the same time feeling like I had let him down, myself down, and was, in general, in a foul mood. I had no idea what else to do but call it quits, we were wasting our time. I hugged him and told him we're just trying to get him healthier, and he said "I know," but he's perhaps too far gone now. Or close to it. He's becoming really hard to be around. He's no longer my mom's husband, he is her charge. He's the guy my mom takes care of. It's just not my dad in there. And I have no idea what to do anymore. I am almost embarrassed to say this, but I am not very fond of the man that Dementia has made of my father.

My mom and dad are going to give it another try in a week or two. I will likely go with them to offer support. It's such an easy and beneficial and totally natural method of clearing your body of poisons, I highly recommend a colonic to anybody who is feeling sluggish or ill. We've talked about the possibility of my dad going into a home in the next 6 months. He's 61. My grandparents are in their 70s. My girlfriend's grandparents are in their 80s. My dad's been taken from me. How? I don't know. Perhaps it was a "use it or lose it" situation. He retired from Boeing and a planned schedule, and 2 years later started slipping, and is now in the grip of FrontoTemporal Dementia. Was he predisposed? Perhaps. His mother had Alzheimer's.

If you could, please take a second and say this little prayer for my family:
"I ask you God to protect Gerry and Pam, to help them find the healing paths to walk, and to find peace in each day's blessings." It would mean the world to us.

And I can't thank you enough, those of you who have read this and shown your support and love to me and my family. I had no idea I'd ever go through this, and it's tearing me down, but your support keeps the foundation intact. Love ya.

So What Do I Get My Dad?

2004-12-14T16:15:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I'm taking my dad to a naturopath because we're looking for new remedies to his dementia. It's progressed at an alarming rate in the past year. He's gone from losing his glasses to repeating the names of every store we drive by in a strip mall. It doesn't sound like much, but after 30 minutes of "PaydayLoanTimesUpThaiBartellsBlockBusterStarbucksJetPizza" you start looking for side roads. He can't read mailboxes since he lost his glasses.

The reason I'm taking him to the Naturopath is to consult about what natural remedies there are to changing or at least halting the symptoms of his dementia. This was a pretty major onslaught of symptoms, which shows me this is a chemical change, not a mental one. The hardest symptom to overcome is apathy. This is prominent in all people with mental illnesses, where they begin to not care about what's going on.

For example, if you have to take a whiz, you go. You go because, if you don't, you'll start to get ill and uncomfortable and, publicly, you'll ruin your appearance, or at least change it to one that is soppingly unacceptable. Imagine feeling like you have to go, and then waiting about 30 seconds before going, whether or not you're in the bathroom. This happens far too frequently, and it's really sad to be part of. My dad from 4 years ago would want my dad now to get healthy, and would want us to do whatever we could to get him there.

Here's to hope.

Things Are Similarly Different

2004-11-09T16:53:00.000-08:00

In my return from Michigan, where I spent a week with my family of all proximities, I realized again how much of an influence meeting my dad, even just once, had on people in the past year. Middle of 2003, my father's first signs of short-term memory fog had sprung up. Now we see all of the things dementia can do to a person, a family, and thoughts of futures.

My cousins and their spouses or friends, my aunts and grandparents, all speaking of my dad in loving tones and words. "Gerry's always been such a loving and caring guy, and so funny and cool about everything. And ridiculously SMART, how can anyone know that much about international business AND the football rivalries of the SEC?" And nobody liked what they saw now, the man my dad has become. They know what's happening, and they offer their love and support, and that's the best I can ask of anyone.

Last night I dreamt of my family in a van, dad, mom, me, grams and gramps, cousins. I sat at the wheel with all the coolness of having a Siegfried&Roy and flopping another George Michael before the turn. (those are all Queens, by the way. Siegfried & Roy is my term for suited queens in poker) Weaving through traffic, dodging on-coming weavers and wild ones. Semi-trucks swerving, losing control, tipping over. The airbags could have deployed and filled with the constant stream of yelling, gasping, and "Do this" or "Get out of that lane"s. And I constantly did my own thing, never feeling, even in that weird dream way, dangerous or endangered.

I understand that many of the things I want to see happen for my dad will have to come from my own doing, my approach and follow-through to get the ball down the lane. A couple of warm-ups and I hope to be able to pull strikes and clean up spares. No gutterballs here. I'm playing for my dad's health, and the sanity of a car-load of loving family members.

Perspective and Perspiration

2004-10-12T11:19:00.000-07:00

The progression of my father's condition has given me some of the wildest thoughts and hopes I've ever had.
Is it psychosomatic? Did my dad hear "you have This, it does This to you," and decide that's how he would act? Because his actions are like everything you do without inhibition, consequence-thought, or discretion, and that is NOT my dad.

Is it ever going to stop? I can't see this being something that is impossible for science to diagnose, yet not stave off. That is BULLSHIT. Naturopathic medicine is on the way in here. Already taking a couple of herbal supplements, I've heard some changes in my dad's voice. Fingers crossed, prayers spoken.

My dad plays games, manipulating situations. There's process to those thoughts, that is not random action. Therefore he is not on autopilot. Or is the autopilot steering him through the games? See how this can drive one crazy?

It's really really tough. It's like my dad moved out and a new man moved in and now we're supposed to take care of him for the rest of our lives. Imagine that. Here's your new roommate. He looks like your other favorite roommate, but he's 180-degrees different. Why? Fuck if I know, "life's unfair?" I don't give a shit, it's not my problem.
Hey, thanks God/The Fates/Karma/Krishna/George Burns. I owe ya one. Right in the neck. This isn't "action-consequence." This is my dad getting older, and I think the doctor's rushed to diagnose a few little things as a forthcoming problem.

I'm looking at taking some drastic yet loving and unhurtful measures. The medical industry has been known to screw up frequently. There are ways to unscrew it. Sigh, what the fuck am I supposed to do with a 61 year-old 5 year-old?

The Clearest I Can Explain It

2004-09-07T01:02:00.000-07:00

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.

The Warm Silence of Perspective

2004-09-03T01:18:00.000-07:00

In the past 10 days this blog has been read by a number of people. They have all expressed two sentiments: First, that my family is in their prayers. Second, that if I ever need to talk about what is going on with my dad, I could come to them.

Thank you. Each of you. I wish I could remember all of your names right now, but I'm honestly overwhelmed by it all. It's in the "dark" times that you find out what kind of forces are working with and against you, and I'm safe in saying I have a hugely positive force around me. This is more than energy, I can truly feel the love and sympathy sent out to me. I've tried my best to not hide this, because this is not embarrassing, and also because a LOT of us may be going through this as our parents age. I truly hope for you, dear reader, tha this never comes about in your family.

In the background, as I type this, "Celebrity Poker Showdown" is on, my favoriote episode starring Michael Ian Black and Norm MacDonald. Somebody just flopped a pair of queens, or as it's known, flopped a "Siegfreid & Roy." Hardy har. Here's where perspective taps me on the shoulder. These are people of notoriety playing a game to win money for a cause they believe in. They have enough in their bank to give whatever they'd win, times 10. But what's the fun if you're not IN IT? (hack jokes deleted)
I know that the world carries on, each of us walking through it with baggage clunking around us. And I carry this myself, obviously unwilling to do so, but it's got my tag on it at the claim carousel, it's coming with me. And it's not light enough to knock around as a balloon, nor heavy enough to stop my trekking on. It's enough to feel, though, acted upon by a gravity unlike anything I've ever been in step with.

And to know that there are SO MANY people sending so much love to my family, I gained more strength to carry it. Eventually I will adapt and it will become weightless for a myriad of reasons. In the meantime, all I have is to give back. Do this, for yourself...
Call somebody RIGHT NOW, someone you love, know, have lost touch with, and take a sec to catch up with them. Tell them something good about them. It's really not about you for that moment. Go outside yourself. Give. Someday you may need someone cheering you on from the sidelines of your personal Marathon. Being in front of a raucous & supportive crowd will carry you forward.

I am overwhelmed. I am blessed. I am stronger. Thank You. It's only two words, but I hope you know that it means you have written your name in the book of my life, and I will feel a debt of gratitude and appreciation I may never be able to repay.

Love ya. It's all gonna be okay. Promise.

Ignorance Is Bliss?

2004-08-23T22:53:00.000-07:00

The other night at dinner, celebrating my mom's birthday, we sat and talked about all that's been going on in our family. There aren't many people in my circle who know, although I know a lot of people. If you're reading this, then you know how things are going with my dad. I hope you never have to go through anything like this. This is the closest I've ever come to having my heart broken.

As we talked I realized that I need to be more involved in my dad's life right now. I need to be more involved in my family, not just my dad. My mom has taken on a "caretaker" role with my father, something nobody who knows our family would ever have guessed. Nobody could have ever told me that my dad would be diagnosed and technically classifed as "mentally ill," either. What was I thinking, that Life plays by the Rules? Stupid me. I love my dad and my family too much to disappear just because this is tough. That's cowardly, to hide from it. So I'm putting myself in the game, coach.

My dad's condition is one of good and bad days. There are many jokes about people who are old, forgetful, senile, Alzheimerriffic, punchy, wet-brained and whatever. I can still laugh at those, if it's a good joke. But the good days aren't what they used to be. My dad used to be able to play 18 holes, mow the lawn, take the grass to the dump, come home and have dinner made before we ever knew what was happening. Now it's a good day if he remembers to brush his teeth. Yes, that is how this goes.

I have accepted that This is Life, Now. This is part of my life. Not all of it. But it is important. I can't talk about my dad's inevitable passing, nor that of my mom who is in good health. Here we are now, our parents aging, all of us maturing. And you'll need it. The fates may take to you in a way that allows your family to live to a ripe old age, free of disease and faded intellect. You may find yourself staring through tears as your mom tells you she found a lump. Your dad may say the doctor wants to do more tests, again, because things just aren't right. Then what will you have? Either the strength to take each step without ever a thought of quitting. Or the cowardice to step back and let everyone else witness Life playing by its own Rules.

I'm in the game. I'm happy that for 29 years I had a coach who taught me about love, faith, and family. If anything like I mentioned in the previous paragraph should come to your loved ones, remember the love they gave you. That's Currency. You have it banked. Now it's your turn to give it back, freely.

And if anybody can't understand where you're coming from when you turn down a party invite in favor of time with your family, fashion yourself Lucky. That person doesn't understand what love you have been given in your life.

The New Everything

2004-08-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

I just talked with my mom and she mentioned something to me that hit me like a ton of wet cement.
With my dad's condition, it affects not ONLY my mom and my sister and me, but it affects each of our relationships, with him and with each other. This is a different person than the man who raised me, because of his condition. I wondered how my mom was really doing, and she told me.

Thirty-four years ago my dad married my mother. Since then they have loved each other through all of their ups and downs of life and marriage. My dad encouraged and supported her through a journey of self-empowerment and spiritual fulfillment, and NEVER would give up on her, his family, or their happiness. And he is not that man any longer, not all the way. While my sister and I grieve for the changes our father goes through and how they affect our lives, my mother grieves for the loss of some of the strongest and finest personality traits of the man who stood by her through everything good and bad in her life for the past 34 years. He is not who he's always been, and it seems as if it has happened over-night.

Excuse me while I deny the gravity of your parking ticket.
What a time to try to quit smoking.

My Dad's New Life

2004-07-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

My dad is 60 years old. He was diagnosed with Fronto-Temporal Dementia. It is frustrating, sad, and as, pardon the language, totally fucking angering as anything I've ever come across. Here's why:

From The Alzheimer's Association's Website
Early indications of FTD often involve alterations in personality, mood, and conduct. Affected individuals may experience a decline in social skills and manners or engage in unusual verbal, physical, or sexual behavior. Initial symptoms may also involve uncharacteristic apathy, indifference, and an unwillingness to talk. Weight gain due to dramatic overeating is another common symptom. People may repeat motions compulsively or collect and hoard objects. Affected individuals may neglect hygiene and resist encouragement to attend to themselves. Another key feature is that people with FTD lack awareness or concern that their behavior has changed.

I am SO angry. I am angry for my dad. I am angry for my mom who has become a primary care-giver for my dad. I'm angry for my sister and I, in our 30s and entering a stage of life where the biggest steps of homes, spouses, and perhaps kids, and my dad may not be able to fully enjoy all of it.

I have seen, in my dad's progression, almost all of the changes above, except the sexual behavior. My dad has always, ALWAYS been one of the funniest, most engaging, charming, well-groomed, sweetest men a person would want to meet. And much of that is gone. It's like I have a new dad, and in that sense I am getting to know this man.

This is affecting my relationships, wherein I feel like I want to protect him from the judgment of others who may think lowly of his behavior. Note this, he's not crazy, roaming the neighborhood in a bathrobe and looking for cats to dress up. Sorry, I have to SOME humor to this. But I hope to show that this diagnosis affects EVERYONE who knows the affected person.

Again I have to restate. This is not a disease. This is not an infection. This is a condition. It can't get better. It can only plateau or get worse. And in the past year it has done the latter. And he's only 60.

2004-06-29T14:42:00.000-07:00

Because This Is How It Is

Anger is not a strong enough word, but it's the first to mind.
When a person has neurologically "degenerative" or "altering" disorder, such as Alzheimer's or Pick's, that's pretty much who you'll be dealing with, or worse, for the rest of your lives. Take one of your parent's for example. Then identify one quality of their personality which you love, which you know makes them who they are.
Now get rid of all traces of it. Welcome to the world of FrontoTemporal Dementia!

Sucks the big one, huh?

It's not that this is an "overnight" onset, either. A Frontotemporal disorder affects a person's Personality and Daily Life and is progressive. It's not like they wake up and can't move their little finger. They wake up and can't tell you what fingers are. And it gets worse. My dad is in the earlier stages of all this, where we think it's only been happening for about the last 3 years or so. He's not crazy nor is he wandering the streets wondering where his house is. I haven't really noticed until the last year, and noticed it a lot more as we have a diagnosis and a treatment schedule. Ignorance is/is not bliss. Dignity dignity dignity. Anger Anger Anger.

Sigh.

So I'm here at work, a place that I'd rather not be, writing about something very real to my family and my life, and all I wish right now is that there was a magic pill that would cure my dad. If there were such a pill, what would the proper cost be? What would any of us be willing to give up to save a parent and a family from the ills of aging? Discuss.

E-mail me at GBLott@hotmail.com

2004-06-24T11:11:00.000-07:00

Last night I attended a class at Overlake Hospital that spoke on accomodating and handling the behavioral changes of a person with Alzheimer's. My Dad doesn't have Alzheimer's disease, but he has been diagnosed with "frontal-temporo lobe dementia," which creates a lot of the same behavioral changes in the person.

This is where life got tougher. This is how my dad has changed. His speech is clipped and mono-tone. He has gained weight. He has a lot of difficulty focusing on tasks, so much so that he no longer reads the daily news or works out at the local gym. It gets too boring for him. He knows who all of us are, but he's not the same man who raised me.

See, the man you would meet now is not the man I have known for 29 years of my life. He's so very different now, and not in a bunch of bad ways, but in enough ways that he is not Himself. He is not as jocular, intuitive, or sweet-natured. This is not cancer. According to the experts, he is not going to get better or go into remission. This is the new him, and the man he will be and become for the rest of his life.

Why the hell am I sharing any of this? Because I don't know anybody who has a parent with this condition. This is the man who read books to me before bed and taught me to throw a spiral. He bailed me out of jail, shared bottles of wine with me, and watched years-worth of sporting events with me. And those are all in the past, building blocks to the monument of steadfast love and devotion my dad had to his children. That monument is now in his honor. I have nothing but love for my dad, and as I grow into my new role as his protector and helper I know that I have a strength about me that will carry me through moments of our new life.

Regardless, I'm still angry to punch Jesus.

My Dad's New Life

2004-06-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

My Father's Days

"Who is this man?"
I'm not as confused as I am damn-near heartbroken. Tears welling even as I write this. But I have to write it. I gotta get this out somehow, because I had only one cry over it so far, and if I don't get it out somehow I fear it will live inside me and eat at my desire to Live. If you don’t want to read any further, go here. I need to share somehow what life can be like, even when you appear totally normal, happy, and completely free of anti-depressants.

60 years old, to be 61 in October, Gerry Lott, my father, is not the same man he was 5 years ago. Other than tall, my dad has been pretty much everything most kids want in a dad. I fault him not for his height Smart, caring, funny, mentoring, encouraging, firm, hard-working, steadfast in his faith, paper-reading, cologne-wearing, golf-playing, whispering dirty jokes and able to run 5 miles in under 45 minutes. So very proud of his children, even when I messed up, and prouder still when I would man-up and right my wrongs. He's always been fair, a great listener, a man of intellect in life and business, and if he didn't know the answer, he'd make me look it up. Whatever he achieved, he wants better for his kids by 1000-fold. He was meant to be a Dad, and he has been amazing at it.

He is very different now. He's still here. But it's not him. It's him. But it's not. He's here, but he's not here. Some of you know what I'm talking about. Really though, I'll explain another time when I'm not sitting at work cursing and questioning the existence of the God my dad helped me learn about and seek answers from when I couldn't think of anything else to do. The God of all creation and destruction. With what I feel today, I could totally take God. Blasphemous? Yes. But until my heart quits feeling like it's trying to run from my body, so these feelings of impending loss and fear will not cloud into my career and social life, I waver between asking God to protect my family, and ordering God to stop it all and set the clock back 5 years. How about 3?

It's not going to happen. And all I can do for now is write about it. All I can do for now is write about it? For now.