Apr
19
Prognosis: Not Optimistic (a letter)
April 19, 2005 | |
2nd Day here, exhausted, prognosis: not optimistic.
Besides the obvious reason for returning home to Michigan, throw in two turbo charged, attention starved little boys, an anxiety ridden, disgruntled mother and three overachieving sisters that are all competing to take the reigns of this monster we call Alzheimer’s Disease. Needless to say,
IT HAS NOT BEEN EASY.
But you already knew that. After all, the prelude to this emotional upheaval has been in effect for months. However, I’m not sure Jenny and Stephany had truly taken the time to process the situation. For the first time since we were kids they actually got into a fight.
It was all over a video that both of them wanted to create. My father, of course, was the subject. Jenny wanted to meticulously map out the creative production and call it a "tribute" to dad. Stephany thought she should wing it Reality-TV style, bust out the video camera and start taping. The two artists could not agree, and neither refused to bend to the other.
So this disagreement soon escalated to an argument and then went onto become a serious tear fest. But I just kind of sat off in the distance and took it all in as Claire would…
And I asked myself, "now what are they really upset about here…"
The answer was obvious to me…But of course, it only took 104 therapy sessions to determine the underlying issue in "disagreements" such as this. After all, the sisters never fight.
We just transcend.
Bringing the boys was a huge mistake. We simply had no time to enjoy them.
They were left with my mom, over and over again, as we flitted from doctor to lawyer, to therapist, to banker. And they’re too young to understand what was going on…But too smart to ignore our absence. We’d arrive home, physically and emotionally exhausted only to find our mother ready to jump out the window. 2nd cocktail in hand,
3 o’clock
in the afternoon and already needing to numb the nerves… And all she ever wanted was for all of us to indulge in her bean salad, and watch Sea Biscuit.
It didn’t make matters much easier when my father would compile these phantom lists of things to do. He was a list maniac. He had at least three hundred lists going at the same time.
But 90% of them all said the same thing in a different variation. Some of these lists were from the 80s. They seemed to have no continuity or structure, as if his brain completely lost the capability to prioritize. Can you imagine how stressed out you would feel if you tried to keep every memory you’ve ever experienced first and foremost in your everyday thoughts?
The poor guy, no wonder he was so confused. HE WROTE DOWN EVERYTHING.
If you wrote something for him to remember, he would make a copy for himself in his own handwriting. And he is still very much a writer. However, he cannot read what he writes afterwards. It is interesting however, that the act of writing, although he cannot see the words, helps him to remember. Examples:
* Linda (neighbor, democrat, blonde hair, husband Bill likes to collect elf statues)
(that’s him trying to remember his neighbor)
* GM 450, EDS 67 Mark Planey
(that’s an attempt to make a stock transfer through his financial planner)
* Teen 288-6565 (that’s my incorrect phone number that looks very similar to the real thing)
* Mary Kay = buttercream, almond nougat, caramel
(That’s his way of remembering what kind of chocolates to buy this lady on her birthday).
*
Boys
Park
, Ducks, Ice cream
(What to do with the boys)
*Alarm clock? Where?
(He told us he couldn’t read his alarm clock anymore, so we through it out the day before…
But he forgot)
*Call Ben
(A non-descript friend from 30 years ago, whose name curiously appears on almost every list)
*Phone books and batteries, where, when?
(He MUST recycle his old phone books, and has to dispose of his old batteries in a specific dumpsite in
Michigan
that can only be accessed once a week during a 4 hour window)
Now common sense would tell us, just through he damn things in the garbage already!
But he REFUSES. And these adamant requests just keep putting us behind the 8 ball.
2 things that make these lists even more difficult to handle:
# 1. He completely omits spaces between words = h I m y n a m e I s j o h n
# 2. Phone numbers are totally inconsistent. My cell on one list is 646-327-2510
# 3. He never crosses anything off. So he is forever living in this state of incompletion…
I could go on and on…But I’m ready to keel over and die I’m so spent.
I just wanted to let you know I have been thinking about you all the time, even if I couldn’t talk. And your messages everyday really helped keep me a float…Thank You.
I can feel your love from across the seas, and it keeps me going. Seriously, even if it was just hearing your voice once a day…It made all the difference at the end of a seemingly never ending day.
I love you,
You are my guardian angel–
xoxoxo
C.
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