Valuing Dad

Mom and Dad came to visit, and it was wonderful to have them here.  It was interesting to see how Alzheimers has affected Dad, and affects him moment to moment.  I have sometimes (randomly!) pondered on what I would do if I were to suddenly find myself deposited in another time, place, and culture, in the body of someone who belonged there, and was expected to act "normally."  Would I be able to pull it off?  How? I think I would try to do as little as possible and pick up on as many clues as possible, but still I'm sure I'd make some terribly weird mistakes.  In watching Dad, it seems to be that essentially, that is the experience he is having.  He doesn't recognize his surroundings (at least, not at my house), or the people he is with.  He doesn't know how to complete basic processes (like using a broom to sweep the floor), or even recognize simple objects (sink, trash can, dishwasher, table, counter, broom, cell phone, cup, etc.) He also has the incredible disadvantage of not being able to use the social clues that are given, because he forgets them so quickly.  

Yet, Dad is still Dad.  Inside the confusion is the thoughtful, positive man who loves people, loves helping, and  has strong, tender feelings.  The first day they came, Dad said to me with a grin "It sure is nice to get to spend time with neighbors like you."  Dad had no idea who I was, but he was determined to make me feel appreciated.  As he tried diligently to help around the house, he frequently commented "I'm available to help with anything you need!"  He was totally ready and willing, so it was painful to see how unable he was.  When asked to help clear the table, he couldn't find the table.  When handed a cup to put in the dishwasher, he couldn't find the dishwasher.  He wandered around the kitchen, finally stopping at the trash can and saying "This dishwasher?"  

The morning they left, Mom and Dad helped me move a really big dresser to another room.  It was very heavy and we needed everyone's strength.  It was an exercise in frustration for Dad, though, because he wasn't understanding our directions ("lift UP!", "push forward", "grab the cardboard" were all incomprehensible) and he felt our frustration.  He wanted to walk away, and we needed his help.  We got it done eventually.  It was interesting to me, in the midst of the process, that Dad made the important suggestion: "We need to take all the drawers out!"  We couldn't, unfortunately, because of the way the darn thing was constructed, but it surprised me for Dad to come up with such a lucid idea.

Through the week, I also monitored my own interactions with and attitude towards Dad.  I'm afraid there was a lot of condescension.  It was hard for me to think of how to say things in a way that didn't obviously point out a failing.  Usually I just kept my mouth shut.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings, or treat him like a child, though I know I did, again and again.  His example is the one I should follow--lots of appreciation, encouragement and enjoyment of his company.  

For FHE, Sam asked Mom and Dad to share their testimonies.  Dad shared his sense that there would be a time of "opening" ahead.  He shared his feelings of love for people, for family and friends, and that he looked forward to being together.  He also talked about his love for scriptures that invite  us do good.  His words were so thought provoking.  My vision of him is as a geode, with layers of confusion, grey and heavy encasing a stunningly beautiful treasure.  He will have a time of opening, when the glory of his being is laid bare again, and illuminated by the light of God.  His presence also invites us--to measure ourselves in our interactions with him, to strive to be better in our treatment of him and everyone around us, and to see the greatness in even the least of our brothers and sisters. That he is able to do as much--to encourage, love, appreciate, express gratitude, enjoy beauty, serve diligently and humbly--with the debilitation of Alzheimers is an invitation to me to become the sort of person that he is--to truly make my heart a beautiful treasure.