Aphasia
There were only four of them, but my father wouldn't stop looking.I ha d put thosefour in a Dewars box over an hour ago. When he would finally make his way backin to the foyer, where I was writing THOMPSON in indelible black letters, I would haveto tell him again. He'd shuffle by, casting me a loo k like "who the hell are you?" an almost knock over the boxes.
"Evelyn! Evelyn? Where arethe rest of the goddamn portraits? If anyone thinks I'm leaving without them... I'm not leaving without the portraits." Dad had an eight-by-ten of himself shaking hands with every Republican president nominee since Goldwater. Mom had loaned Nixon to Charlie Pike when they roasted Dad on his sixty- fifth birth day.Charlie Pike was dead. “...the hell's Dick Nixon?" I heard from the den. Dad was circlingfrom the foyer to the hallway, to the den, through the kitchen and back to thefoyer, looking for that portrait.
I'm thinking, when he comes back around, I'm going to hog tie him to his wheelchairand stick his diaper in his mouth.If my mother is cold, a t least some of it is Dad’s fault. I canremember when she was good; and she could be a regular cherub to us kids from time to time. She wasn't alwaysthe person she became. She was just too much of a hardass when it came to Dad. She probably should have left him and ended the whole thing when she had the chance togo to Sacramento. But she toughed it out, and it cost he r. It cost us all, I suppose. Ifanyone kept score, she won. She got her Benz and her Junior League. Dad never gotaway with much .She could smell a handful of some nurse's ass on him before he got outof the Buick most nights.
Once Dad actually started to get sick,Mom would call us crying and tell us how hardit was. How both of them just wanted it to end and how Dad thought this was all somekind of punishment for something he never did. Early on, he always talked about the"irony”—that the same thing that he hated about his mother was happening to himand that it was so sad that he should lose his mind, since it had been so sharp. I don'tthink it's ironic at all. It’s genetic, like everything, probably.
She would tell us how he refused to wear the diapers even though he pissed onhimself everynight for two weeks and how finally one night she just would n' t get out of bed to clean him up and left him there all pissed on. Emily was good at listening to Mom. She's a counselor and always knew how to say things to calm her down. Iwouldbarely even speak when Mom called. Times like those need handling by professionals. That's why I'm so glad I had Emily around, her being a counselor and all.
Now Morn doesn't talk much at all. She stopped calling after Hank went down toFlorida and took Dad from the condo. I think she had it all figured out. I think if Hankhadn't gone down there, Dad wouldn't be here today. We sure as hell wouldn't bemoving him over to Discovery Bay to live with Karen.
This morning Mom sat me down. Her and I haven't really talked since all this stuffstarted getting ugly. She wanted to know if I thought she had planned to have Dadkilled. I told her of course not, that I would have done the same thing had I been there.There's nothing wrong with checking out all of the options. It doesn't make you amurderer, if you're just looking at options.
We ate breakfast in town, and I dropped Mom off at her house and went to see aboutthe movers. They're supposed to be here any minute and all the boxes are ready.
Things aren't as bad between Emily and I as they were for a while. For a while, she feltlike I didn't even care about my own father. She said that if I cared I would have beenmore upset when I heard about what Mom was up to. Emily took it very hard. She wasin Hank's corner all the way, at least until Hank said she couldn't come see Dad inPetosky, either. He told her it was too risky, with me being so Wishy-washy, and all. It took me a long time to explain myself to Emily. I knew from the beginning it was wrongfor Mom to even think about having Dad put down. I just couldn't stand the way Hankdid it. He didn't call any of us; he just went down there behind our backs and did it. I wasmadder at him than I was at Mom. When I heard Hank had gone to court to get custody of Dad, I was so mad I couldn't even talk. I just left Karen and Emily sitting there at therestaurant. That's the night I didn't come home.
If Hank wasn't so self righteous about the whole thing, I wouldn't be so mad. If hehad talked to me and it had really come down to it, I might have even gone down toFlorida with him.
Emily got Dad to sit down, but I still don't think he understands about the portraits.This disease has done funny things to his memory, like they said it would. Sometimeshe remembers things from when we were growing up and we can talk for a while. Twoor three times he's told me the story about how Mom got so mad at him she threw hisgolf shoes out of the Buick and when they went back to get them they only found hisempty shoe box and an old pair of ladies' high-heels. Even Mom had to laugh at that. "Isthere something you're not telling us, Dad?" Hank had asked. He was only abouttwelve at the time, but he was always witty.
Lately when I've gone to visit, Dad has really been out of it. Sometimes, he can't keep track of time. I'll have been in his room about one minute, barely enough time to sayhello, and he'll start saying how nice it has been to visit with me. He'll say, "Son, it's beenso good to see you. I'm so glad you came down. Come back as soon as you can."Usually, when that happens I’ll just hang around for a minute or two and then leave. Thenurse doesn't know what's going on. Last Wednesday I just left and drove around someold haunts in Castro Valley for a while, then came on home.
When Emily goes down with me, there's this whole production. It's usually Sundaymorning, and we have to leave straight from church to get there in time for lunch. Shetakes Dad a pork chop, some greens, and a piece of pound cake every time. The kids arealways looking for a reason not to go to church, much less all the way down to CastroValley.On any given Sunday, only one of them is with us. I can't blame them, especiallysince Dad can never remember their names anymore. By the time we exit the freeway,Emily and I have usually gotten into it about something. Last Sunday I had left the cardDot Pitts got for Dad sitting in the Bible rack at church. Emily wanted to go back but Ispelled it out. No way was I going to spend another hour on the road just so Dot Pittswouldn't see that stupid card in the Bible rack.
I don't know if it's better or worse when Dad can't talk. Last Sunday, when we finallygot down there, he wasn't talking. He would make some noise, but it was just gibberish.The nurse had taken care of Alzheimer's patients before and knew all about the kinds ofthings you could expect to see. She said she wasn't worried that he couldn't make sense.We talked for a while, me and Emily and the nurse. She had been in twice this week, butthis was her first Sunday. The agency had switched her and the regular Sunday nursebecause the other one had kids and wanted weekends.
This one was Stella. She told us Dad had talked a lot earlier this week. She had askedhim if he was ready to move and he seemed real pleased. He was ready to get up toKaren's and live the good life, she said. She patted Dad on the shoulder and goes, "Howare you ever going to deal with all those grandchildren? I hear there's a whole housefulof them waiting for you." Emily asked Stella how Dad's spirits were holding up. Wewere all real worried about him because he was depressed.
"Well you know people with AD have a lot of issues dealing with their loss of control,"she said. "They can get confused and frustrated because they aren't able to keepthings straight and sometimes they can just get mad. Other times they can be hopeless.It's real important that you understand that that's just a normal part of this disease, likethe aphasia."
"Like the what?"
"Aphasia. When he can't talk."
She said Dad talked about dying a lot. He talked about it with her and she always triedto keep him upbeat. I knew he had told her he was going to kill himself; he tellseveryone. I watched her sitting there acting like we didn't know. She said she thought itwas great that we had his minister coming out on Sunday afternoons. Hank had set thatup. He made it part of the arrangement. Twenty four-hour nurse coverage, limitedvisitation for Mom, and a weekly session with the minister were his three big demands.He wouldn't bring Dad back from Michigan until we actually put the minister on thephone with him, as if we couldn't handle that part ourselves. That's the kind of bastardmy brother has turned into.
Hank won'tadmit that it will be easier on all of us when Dad is gone. Nobody wantshim to die, but nobody wanted him to get sick, either.
Emily doesn't like to leave on Sundays before the minister shows up because she likesto give him the update on Dad herself. Last Sunday we waited around until the guy got there at three o'clock. I don't mind waiting around because this minister is top notch. He's only about thirty, but he never misses a visit. As soon as he got settled by the bed,Stella offered Dad's pound cake to him and I thought Emily was going to explode. Shedidn't, though. She just intercepted the hand-off, "I think Dad'll want that later."
While Emily wrapped the cake in foil in the kitchen I asked the minister what hethought.
“This new arrangement will be better for everyone. You can all see him more often and Karen will have you all close by when she needs help. Hank and I have spoken andI think he's ready to work with you."
I asked what he thought about Dad.
"The pain your father is in can only be helped by the love of his family and his lord.Remember that, and pray for him." When he was finished talking, he took a slip ofpaper off of the phone stand and wrote me a note. The note went in my pocket and I read it that evening. "Lamentations 3:26."
The movers came and went. Everyone was still around, finishing up with the details.Hank was telling Karen that it was OK to ask the nurse to rub Dad's feet a t night becausewe were paying her a lot of money and it made Dad sleep better, Mom had Dadwheeled up to the window in his old study, where he used to do his thinking. I had thetime so I picked up the Bible from behind the VCR and turned to Lamentations.
It isgoodthat a manshould bothhope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.
Emily was ready, so weleft. I didn't tell her about it.
© James Hamrick