It wasn’t until I became a mother that I truly grasped the immense burden my own mother bore. Diapers, tantrums, and mealtime struggles were not just memories from my childhood, but reflections of her caregiving for a man who was once vibrant and full of life: my father.
“She keeps him connected to the world,” my grandmother would often remark about my mother’s unwavering dedication to my father, who battled early-onset Alzheimer’s for over a decade before passing away at 66. The term “battle” feels inadequate; it’s a fight without a victor. Yet, he experienced a better quality of life than many others with the disease.
My mom made it a point to include my dad in her activities. During Zumba, he would sway to his own rhythm at the back of the room. If he ventured too close to someone, she would gently reposition him. On the tennis court, while players took turns keeping him company on the sidelines, he sometimes left with a ball or a set of keys in his pocket. No one ever dared to comment on these quirks.
Swimming was his favorite pastime, even as his mobility waned. Eventually, he resisted changing into a swimsuit, and my mom, recognizing the struggle, let him enter the pool fully clothed. Getting him out of his wet clothes, in and out of the car, and into the shower became monumental tasks. The reality of adult diapers and pee pads was jarring when I finally visited and confronted the situation head-on. I aimed to visit every couple of months, but during my last visit, I was shocked by the overwhelming odors permeating their home.
Breakfast was usually cereal, which he could manage with help from my mom. He had a particular fondness for sweets, and after a doctor’s visit raised concerns about his weight and cholesterol, my mom cut back on his treats. However, the doctor later encouraged her to allow him his favorites, recognizing that eating was one of his few remaining joys in life.
As a parent, you expect to change diapers, dress your child, and guide them socially. Yet, as a spouse, you never anticipate changing your partner’s diaper or feeding them. And as a daughter, witnessing your mother care for your father in such intimate and distressing ways is utterly unimaginable.
In the three and a half years since my father’s passing, the trauma of those experiences lingers. We continually process the memories and how to honor my father’s legacy while ensuring he had the best quality of life possible. Reflecting on my father’s Alzheimer’s and my mother’s dedication has profoundly influenced my own parenting of my young sons.
During my last visit, my father often slept, and I wondered if he recognized me. Yet, the day after I returned home, my mom texted to say he had called me “beautiful.” That spark of recognition inspired me to treat my sons as if they truly know me. I see them as blank books, and every interaction fills their pages with love and connection.
I often recall my wedding day, just two years before my father died. He seemed agitated during the ceremony, and I wished we had prepared him better. Now, I make it a point to prepare my boys for new experiences, reinforcing what’s coming to help ease their transitions.
Dining out with my father was often complicated. My mother would patiently ask him what he wanted to eat, even though it may have been simpler to order for him. I learned the importance of giving him choices, which has helped build trust with my toddler during mealtimes.
There were moments when my father was aware of his decline, making it a delicate balance between ensuring his safety and maintaining a sense of control. My parents moved to a secure community, allowing him to walk independently while my mom always ensured he was safe. I apply this same philosophy with my son, allowing him freedom within safe boundaries.
When my father was agitated, my mother would use diversion techniques that I now employ with my boys. If he became upset, she would redirect his attention, whether by opening the back door or suggesting a new activity. Similarly, when I sense a potential meltdown, I distract my son with a toy or a video call with grandma.
Music also played a crucial role in calming my father. I created playlists of familiar songs for him, which I now replicate for my sons to ease transitions.
It’s heartbreaking to think that I’m raising my boys using strategies that helped my mom provide my dad with dignity and joy during those final months. Yet, I also strive to instill in them the kindness and respect that my father embodied. I believe he would be proud of the mother I am becoming.
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In summary, my father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s and my mother’s unwavering love and care have indelibly shaped my approach to motherhood. The lessons I’ve learned through their journeys guide me as I navigate parenting my two young sons, ensuring that I instill in them the values of kindness and resilience.
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