“Kids! Stop tossing the ball around; you might break something!” my father exclaims, his tone a mix of anxiety and irritation as he watches my children play.
“It’s alright, Dad,” I reassure him calmly, though I can hear a hint of frustration in my voice. I know I’ll have to repeat this reassurance a dozen times, just as I’ll remind my kids to ease up on the antics that seem to unsettle their grandpa. “He can’t gauge risk,” I tell them, “so everything feels threatening.” Despite my countless attempts to explain this, it seems to elude their understanding. Honestly, it’s a concept that’s hard for me to fully grasp too.
Last year, my father received a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. While we had anticipated this outcome after observing his struggle with dementia for some time, it still hit me like a ton of bricks.
When people think of Alzheimer’s, memory loss often comes to mind first. True, it’s distressing when my father doesn’t recognize my partner or when I find myself answering the same question multiple times in rapid succession. However, the hardest reality to confront isn’t the memory issues—it’s the impact on my children and their relationship with him.
The most heart-wrenching part is that my kids (along with my nieces and nephews) are missing out on truly knowing their grandpa. They won’t remember him as the robust and independent man he once was, the visionary who founded a thriving company. They won’t hear the booming, contagious laughter he shared with his siblings. They won’t witness him swimming, cycling, or taking brisk walks around the neighborhood with his beloved dog, Max. They won’t see the way his face lit up when surrounded by family, the joy radiating from him as he spoke about us.
Instead, they will encounter a different version of him—a man shaped by the relentless grip of Alzheimer’s. They will know a grandparent who feels frightened and agitated when they engage in their usual playful behavior. They will witness someone who relies heavily on others. They will see a man who smiles far less often.
Yet, it’s not all bleak. They will also experience a side of him that still shows warmth, like the way he tenderly speaks to my mother, his enduring love shining through. They might chuckle at his off-color jokes, unaware of their inappropriateness. They will see him get teary-eyed during sentimental daytime shows, missing his own parents and the life they shared.
Through this journey, my children are learning invaluable lessons—patience, compassion, and how to support those who need help. They might even learn to temper their energy when the situation calls for it.
My partner often reminds me that my kids won’t only rely on their memories of their grandpa; they’ll also draw from my recollections. “You can share who he was with them,” he reassured me one night. And I know that’s true.
Perhaps, once we navigate through this evolving reality, I can reconcile the father I knew with the man Alzheimer’s has transformed him into. It is my duty—and privilege—to pass down the essence of the man I admire to my children. In doing so, they will have a glimpse of who he truly was, allowing us all to hold on to his legacy.
Alzheimer’s has been aptly termed the “long goodbye,” and it’s a fitting description. My father is still here, alive, but he is not the man I once knew—at least, not in the way that defined our relationship for decades. Each day, every interaction feels like a farewell to the person he was and the father I hoped he would remain during these golden years.
Goodbye, yet not quite. Because we refuse to let go.
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