Every week, I visit my father, who has Alzheimer’s and lives alone. When I tell people this they say, “Is that safe?”
“Probably not,” I say, and think, Is life?
“He doesn’t want to leave his house,” I’ll explain. “We’re trying to help him stay there as long as possible.” They’ll say, “I’m sorry.” I’ll say, “Thank you.” But here is the truth: I am enjoying Dad’s Alzheimer’s.
This wasn’t always the case. When he first started having symptoms, before my mother died, it was hard, of course. He was angry — a lot — at his computer, telemarketers, himself, me because we were both taking care of Mom, and there were days when they both resented my help.
I am not making light of a terrible disease, and I’m aware that at any time my dad’s symptoms could take a turn. But here’s what I like about Alzheimer’s in this moment:
A) He’s forgotten that he was mad at me before and now he likes me a lot because I can find things like keys, bank statements, glasses and the bow saw he left out in the woods.
B) While he remembers that I wrote books, he doesn’t remember that he didn’t much care for them. He is also happily surprised, each time I remind him, that I taught college and that I teach a writing workshop at the library.
All of this feels pretty good.
C) He repeats stories, but on the flip side, I get to tell stories over and over, and he appreciates them each time as if they’re brand-new. For someone like me, who loves storytelling, this is heaven! It’s also a great way to work on pacing and comedic timing.
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