life affected by dimentia.

Yesterday was my dad's 88th birthday. So my husband and I made the hour drive to go and visit him. It was a beautiful day here in the north - fresh snow, but clear skies.... a perfect winter day. We chatted all the way there, but as we got closer, I started to feel the apprehension of how the visit would go. As we entered the town, my heart started to tighten and my thoughts became lost. Would he know me today?

Even though I am only 43 years old, my dad is 88 and lives with severe dimentia. I remember the first time he didn't know me. My mom had been gone for about a year, and he was still living at home. I checked on him once or twice a day - to make sure he was eating and doing ok. One Saturday my entire family went in to visit and check in on him. When we walked in, he looked at me blankly. When I told him who I was, he said he didn't know anyone by that name. When I told him I was his youngest daughter, he shook his head stating "I only have five children". (I am the sixth, born 10 years after the last.)

It was crushing. So incredibly difficult. Having only lost my mother a year before, I realized at that point (I was 37) that I had already lost dad, and was without parents. I can't explain the pain I felt that day. And I had no idea if he'd EVER remember me again. We left that day. But thankfully the next time I went, he was fine. He knew who I was, and we had a wonderful visit.

And thus would go the last 7 years. Even since moving to a Veteran's home, he has good days and bad. Of course, the good days are fewer in between. But we know right away, the look of recognition in his eyes, when he knows us. And there will be specific questions, asking about my husband's job, the kids, etc..

Yesterday I had no idea who would meet me. Would he know me? It is so hard to make these visits. And honestly, I don't visit enough. But dad doesn't remember that we come. He will forget before we are out the door. That is one of the worst things about dimentia. He has no idea that we come to visit. So the visits are for me. A hope that I'll get one last great conversation with him. One more story.

I had a card and a small cake for dad yesterday, for his birthday. Unfortunately, it was not one of those good days. He looked blankly at me, with that generic, polite smile. When I told him happy birthday, he was happy to be reminded that it was his birthday. We talked, but he didn't ask any questions, didn't answer many of mine. It was very hard to understand him. So the visit wasn't very long.

I was crying by the time we hit the lobby. It is so hard for me to see him that way. To know that I may never have another conversation with him that feels real. But he's lived a long life, and I know that. It's not hard on him, as he doesn't know anything is wrong. And I'm so very happy for that. He is content for the most part, and we really can't ask for more.

I did take a picture with dad before we left. And posted it on facebook, where everyone commented about what a nice picture it is. But pictures don't tell the whole story.

This picture doesn't tell about the ride home.

The stories going through my mind.

The tears flowing. 

The horrible feeling of loss. 

Dimentia messes with your life. While bodies go on, sometimes the mind doesn't.