My Father & the Big A

 All my life my old man has been known for his extensive vocabulary and his remarkable memory.

At least until recently.

These days it’s pretty much just his vocabulary that’s left.

My dad has Alzheimer’s.

He’s been suffering from it for years. At first my mom thought he had Parkinson’s. Not sure how that worked.

It sure seems that Alzheimer’s, and the dementia associated with it, are fodder for popular culture these days. As with a lot of brain disorders, people who suffer from mental issues are coming out of the dark, and being seen for who and what they are. This is all commendable.

Don Johnson and James Gammon

But I’m not sure that fictional treatments can actually do justice to the horror show that is Alzheimer’s. I can remember back in the 90s Don Johnson’s TV show Nash Bridges featured veteran character actor James Gammon as Nash‘s father who suffered from Alzheimer’s. And it was the most convenient Alzheimer’s you’d ever see. When he needed to be lucid, he was, and when it served the plot for him to be goofy, he was. My dad‘s Alzheimer’s isn’t like that.

Alzheimer’s has gradually, minute by minute, hollowed my father out. So much so that every day he resembles the man I’ve known my entire life a little bit less. He went from being initially forgetful to being forgetful and easily confused to being absolutely out of the loop and constantly needing to be reminded of what was going on around him.

But he hasn’t taken this journey alone. Even as his Alzheimer’s is isolate him more every day, my dad is surrounded by a family that loves him. That supports him. And occasionally can still find it in themselves to like him. 

This is no mean feat. 

There are certain things my father can no longer bear. One of them seems to be me. Sometimes just my very existence.Especially if I’m redirecting or disciplining my son around him. My father gets very protective of his grandson, it starts to yell at me. Within the last week I’ve been told to shut up. I’ve been told I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve been told that I’m picking on my kid. None of that is true. And I did not stand still for the shut up part. That’s a story for another time. And it’s hard not to take it personally. Except that in three minutes, he won’t even remember that he did it. I’ve watched a man with a memory for names, dates, places, style trends, sports statistics, exotic words, you name it lose all of that piece meal. 

My dad can still tell you who won the 1969 Super Bowl. But he can’t tell you what I said to him five minutes ago. Or yesterday. Or two months ago. Right now his existence seems to consist of walking a precarious tight rope, completely unmoored. And needing help to become grounded back in the moment if only for a moment.

I’m not writing this For any other reason than to express how it’s been feeling to deal with Alzheimer’s in our family. It’s taken the worst toll on my father. It has taken a knot insignificant toll on those who love him. 

And just once I’d like to see Hollywood get that right.

James Garner and Gena Rowlands in The Notebook