He already is

Did you get the picture I sent?

Yes, I got it yesterday.

I put my name on it so he could

see that it was me.

I showed it to him and he read your name

and he was showing people your picture.

Oh good. So it made him happy.

Don’t worry, Shana, he won’t forget you.

And I think to myself

Of course he will, mom.

He already is.

It's your daughter

Hi, it’s Shana.

Is it a good time to talk to dad?

Well let’s try.

The last few days he hasn’t been able

to figure out how to talk on the phone.

Yeah, he’s having a hard time understanding

that someone is talking to him.

Jim, it’s your daughter, Shana.

Say hello.

Put this to your ear.

Now say hello to Shana.

Right here, Jim.

It’s Shana. Say hello.

It’s okay. It’s alright. I will try again tomorrow.

Okay. Sorry.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Yeah, maybe tomorrow it’ll be better. 

My Character

Sometimes I make up stories

like movies and scenes

that I imagine are real.

And my character is

tormented and angry

and sad and lonely

and guilty and worried

and awkard

and wanting help

and not wanting to be helped.

So that I can feel the

made up emotions of

of a made up story

of my made up character

and not the real ones

for the real reasons.  

Is he in there

Is he in there.

Is he trying to speak
and he hears the non-sense
words coming out,
but that's not what he
tried to say
and he knows
it's wrong
but he can't make his
mouth work.

Is he like a paralyzed
man trying to move,
knowing how to move,
knowing he can't now.

Is he trapped in there like that.
Does he know the disease is trapping him.

Hearing what he says doesn't make sense.
Hearing us speak back to his nonsense.
Saying the words over and over,
hearing them come out wrong.
Wanting to say the words
so we will know he is in there
trying to get out.

Is he in there
knowing he can't?

Don't forget

Don't forget to speak
to his eternal self
though it is temporarily
trapped
in disease
that makes one think
he can't hear you,
but he can.

His soul can.

How is it?

Hey ma, so how is it now,
by yourself in the house?

Oh, it's weird.
I miss dad being here.
You know, when he was nice, not the agitated times.
I don't like thinking about him being somewhere else.
I guess I will get used to it though, huh?
Like my mom said, after my dad died, you just get used to it,
it's not comfortable, you just get used to it.
I guess that's how it is.

When will I stop looking

Last night I spent hours online,
again,
researching a last hope
given by a single doctor
two years ago.

He wasn't really wrong,
but it is still,
Alzheimer's.

And I wondered if that
was truly my last hope
of waking dad up.

But I will most likely
keep looking for another hope.
When will I stop looking?
How could I stop looking?

Go home again

Hi, this is Shana. Is it a good time to talk to my dad?
Yep, hold on, let me get him.

Hello?

Hi dad.
Well hi, son. Gosh, how are you?
I’m good dad. I’m calling to say hi to you.
Well that’s great. Good to hear from you.

When are you coming to get me outta here?

I’d sure like to go home.
I don’t think I did anything wrong to be in here.

I got some work to do in town, dad, and then I will come see you.

Ok, I can pack my stuff up and be ready

for when you get here.

I saw a little bear today, dad. He was a little cinnamon color.

Oh yeah, they had them in here today too.

I think about three or eight.

Oh wow. That must’ve been exciting.

It was. Got a little hairy ya know.

They were wandering around over there.
I think they came outta that way or something.

So, I’ll be ready when you get here and you can

take me home then?

When I finish up with work I’ll come see ya.

Yeah. Gosh you’re a good son, er son, ah, daughter.

Then we could go home to mom and be a dad and mom and daughter again.

Hey dad

Hey pop.
I have to go back to Idaho now.
I got work there to do.
We've been through some tough stuff here lately, huh.
But you're a tough old guy,
and you're doing really good now.
You look happy and healthy again.

I will call you like, everyday, to talk.
And don't worry, I'll still check up on everything for you.
But I can't stay here any longer, right now.
You know I have work.
And I know you understand, dad.

But,
I will miss seeing you all the time.
I will miss hanging out with you.
I will miss joking around with you.
I will miss watching out for you.
I will miss taking care of you.

So for now I gotta go, dad.
I will miss you.
I love you.
See you later, dad.

I still see him

Sometimes, I still see him,
like he used to be.
Sometimes, for a moment,
I forget about the disease
and have a clear moment,
of him.

He's in there.
Trapped inside a disease.
Trying so hard to get out.
Sometimes, he breaks through,
finds an open window
and says hi,
from behind the walls of this
disease.

And in the same moment
I watch the disease claim him,
again.
Trap him.
Close the window.
So I only see him starring,
waving at me,
through a closed window pane,
that I want to break.

I wish I could break it for you,
dad.

Someday, it will be broken.

Someone with me

As I was sitting in the room with my dad,
crying for my dad,
watching him,
screaming at the walls,
throwing pictures,
hitting walls,
pulling on the door I was sitting against,
I felt someone sitting with me.

So strong did I feel it
a male figure,
a father's presence,
sitting on the floor with me,
legs outstretched, hands in His lap,
sad with me, sad like I was sad,
feeling what I was,
as if He was watching His dad,
and so much did I feel
that if I reached out I would
touch flesh,
that I spoke to Him,
out loud.

While I cried

We thought he was getting better.
He is getting worse.
There is something wrong with him.

I locked him and me in a room because
he was so violent, dangerous.
He screamed primitive screams at me.
Threw objects and punched the walls.
Pushed me and drew back as if to punch me
fist clenched, jaw clenched, foreign eyes.
He spat and cursed.
He cried in panic and anger and pain.

And I sat against the door
and tried to pretend
it was not my dad doing this.
And he stopped,
walked to me,
crouched next to me,
kissed my head,
said he was sorry,
stood up,
and screamed curses at the walls,
while I cried.

Singing to my dad in the emergency room

    Pleading. Mama? I wanna go home.
Sung quietly. Nearer my God to thee
    Panic. Oh get me outta here.
Nearer to thee
    But it hurts, mama.
E'en though it be a cross
    No. It hurts me mom.
That raiseth me.
    Pleading. Shirley? Where are you?
Still all my song shall be
Nearer my God to thee

    They're gonna kill me.
Though like the wanderer
    Whispered. Don't let them hurt me.
The sun gone down
    Shana, help me. Shana?
Darkness be over me
    Mumbling. Eyes closed.
My rest a stone
    Mom? Shirl?
Still in my dreams I'll be
    Don't leave me.
Nearer my God to thee
    Quiet mumbling.

To hear him

Dad is sick.
Again we are at the hospital.

To hear him scream at us, profanities.
Cry for us to help him.
To feel him push us and yell.
We change his diaper.
and wipe him clean.
While he screams for us, at us,
not knowing it is us.
He calls my name while he pushes me
in panic and rage.
To hear him cry to go home.

To hear him cry for us to help him.
To hear him curse us as we try to help him.

It didn't happen

I called tonight to tell you.
But I can't lead with this
so I asked about your day.

And then, when I thought
I would tell you what happened,
I wondered what I expected you to say.

How would this go?
How could this go anything but awkward?
What could you possibly say to make this okay?

So the syllables tripped in my throat
and the words painted pictures in my memory
to sad to feel again,
to broken to put together
in a description for you,
so you could wonder
what to say,
to me.

I didn't tell you.
And I won't.
And I will swallow the sounds of the letters
that make the words
of my memory.

And tomorrow
I will go on
as if this
didn't
happen.

Return

It shouldn't be like this for long.
He is having problems with his stomache.
New food, new place, new stress.

She put a diaper on him today.
She changed his soiled clothes.
I changed his soiled bed.

Then we sat with him while he slept,
and talked and slept.

He didn't know it was soiled.
He didn't know it was a diaper.

This should pass soon.
But it will return.

Strange building

My dad is in a strange building
talking to chairs
and plants
and pictures,
surrounded by strangers.
I put him there.
I decided
to take him from his home,
and move him
to a strange building,
where I will visit him
and then leave him,
in a strange building,
with strangers,
who are paid to care for him,
because I am not
anymore.
I do not know how to be
okay with this.

He is different

He is different
after only a week.
He doesn't seem to know us as much.
He doesn't ask us about going home.
He doesn't notice much when we leave.
He seems to be disappearing
further into the disease.
After only a week.
He is different.
He does not seem to know
us
much anymore.

What to do

We do not know what do to with our time.
We call and check in.
They say he is adjusting
better than we all thought he would.
We do the things we normally do.
We don't know what to do
with the other time.
The time we would have been
taking care of him.
We can't see him yet.
Letting him adjust.
Checking in.
Wondering what to do with our time.

Things

I started going through his stuff,
the post-dementia things he collected.
Napkins, empty envelopes, folded pictures, altoid tins, broken watches, pieces of newspaper.
Trying to restore his presence in the house
to pre-dementia days.

So when we look at his things
we will see him
and not the disease.

Goodnight, dad.

Today

Today we took dad in to the facility
and he will stay there.

Today I am numb.
Today I don't know what to do with my time.
Today I want to tell people what I am feeling.
Today I don't want to talk about it.
Today I wonder how he is doing, without us.
Today we call to check up on him.

We wander around, and sweep floors.
We fold laundry.
We are tired, but we don't sleep.
We think about the good stuff.
We downplay the bad times.
We feel guilty.
We don't eat.
We have a stiff drink.

I look at his pictures.
I look at his things.
I wonder how he is doing.
I want someone to know what I am feeling.
I do not want to talk about it.

Today we took him to the facility,
and left him with the caregivers,
and I looked back as the door was closing,
and he was pointing at us,
walking towards us,
telling them he was going with us,
but it was too late,
and the door closed,
and he was on the other side,
and we left,
without him.

Today I am numb.

Just pictures

He ran bent fingers soflty over the pictures
of his family.
Like he could touch our faces.
Touch the memories.
Quietly, slowly, smiling,
with a feather width of air between
finger and picture.
He touched each one.
Spoke to each one.
An eternity of stillness
in his movements.
Slowly touching the pictures.
Touching the memory.

Is this really all I will leave for him
in his new room.
Without us. Alone.
Is this really good enough.

Pictures.
Just pictures.

Initials

We put his initials on his clothes today.
Decided which clothes would go with him
to the facility,
and which ones we would put in a box,
for reserve.

Today we put his initials on his clothes.

In three days we will take him
to the facility,
and not pick him back up again,
to come home.

Pictures

How do I choose
which pictures to hang
in my dad's new room.
Which pictures of us for him to look at,
when he is all alone,
in a strange room,
staring at the walls,
looking at the pictures I am hanging.

Will he know who they are of?
Will he recognize us?
Will he remember us?

Will these pictures comfort him,
or am I hanging them to comfort myself?

Only holes remain

Today we moved dad's furniture
into his facility room.
Hung up pictures of us,
so he could see us,
maybe remember us.

There were holes in the wall.
Where pictures used to hang,
of another family,
for their resident to look at.
Holes, not pictures, anymore.
The resident is gone.
The pictures moved.
Only holes remain.

Paperwork

We met with the facility and filled out all the paperwork
to place him in two weeks.

We told them all about him.
How to take care of him.
Because we won't be, anymore.

We won't take care of him.
He won't live with us.
We are sending him away.
To live somewhere else.
With strangers.
In a strange room,
with a strange roommate.

He will wonder where we are.
He will ask when we are coming to get him.
He will wait for us to take him home.

I do not want to send him away.
I do not want to have to do this.

His Birthday

Yesterday was his 67th birthday
Mom took him to pick out a cake
He chose a leopard print chocolate heart cake
He didn't know it was his birthday

We wished him Happy Birthday
He didn't know what that meant

We ate cake
He tried to put his bowl in the toilet
We told him it was his birthday
He talked about a guy in the room, who didn't exist

Last year he knew what his birthday was
He didn't know it was the day until we told him
But then he was happy it was his birthday
We took him to lunch
He got impatient and upset and we had to leave early
He knew what the word birthday meant

This year, the words didn't mean anything

I think last year was the last birthday
He would be aware of
I am glad I was there
Even if we did have to leave early

Getting dressed

After a shower.

Okay dad, let's put your pants on.
But why are you doing this to me.
Put your pants on please. Holding them up to him.
But you're hurt.
Here are your pants.
My mom wouldn't let this happen.
Please put these pants on.
No! You have to get help.
Here are your warm pants, dad.
Damn it! Aaahhh!
Let's put these on and you will be warmer.
But please, we gotta go home. Now.
Give me your leg and I'll put these on for you.
They're gonna shoot me in the head!
Good, we got that leg. Let's put the other leg in.
Aren't we friends?! Nooooaaaaa! Please take me home.
Okay, I'm going to pull these up now.
Please, you gotta get help. They're gonna kill me.
Look, you got warm pants on. Lets put this shirt on.
Mom?! Where am I?
Put your arms in the shirt.
Tell me where I am!
Let's put your arm in the shirt.
You can't do this. Who hurt you?
Now we'll put your other arm in.
This ain't right! Help!!
Awesome job. Now over your head.
Take me home. Please.
You got your shirt on now. Thanks dad.
Why won't you help me?!!!
I'm going to help you with your shoes now........................
............................................................................................
............................................................................................

My voice

Wanna go to the barn today, Mom?
No. I'll stay.
What's wrong.

I gave him a hamburger and he couldn't figure out how to eat it.
I unwrapped it and handed it back to him.
He just glared at me.
I can't talk to him anymore.
He hears my voice and he purses his lips and grits his teeth.
I can't say anything to him.
He hates the sound of my voice.

Okay, ma.
Let's go to the barn.
Get you on a horse.
And just walk around in the sun.

Take a drink

Dad, take a drink.
He puts the glass down.
I pick it up, hold it out to him.
Drink this please.
He takes it, sets it down, picks up a washcloth.
Well I'm trying to. And this here, he hands me the washcloth.
I pick up the glass.
Try this, Dad. I made it for you.
Oh really? He takes the glass.
Sets it down and reaches for a dirty dish.
These over here said to make this.
I hand him the glass. Act out taking a pretend drink.
He watches, mimics. Well this is good stuff.
He takes another drink.
Sets it down.
Grabs the washcloth.

Save the other

She asked me tonight, Are we doing the right thing?

If I told her to wait,
to not take him in yet,
she would wait.

And keep him at home
until I told her it was time.
And lose herself a little each day
until she too, is.......
gone.

Are we doing the right thing?
Am I?

Telling her it's time.

Letting one go to save the other.

Shoes

Today we bought Velcro shoes
for my dad.

We put them on him and
felt for his toes and
if it was wide enough.

We asked him how they felt.
He answered
"this guy over here"
and pointed at shoe boxes.

We agreed with each other that we
thought the shoes fit
and seemed comfortable.
I guess we don't know for sure.

We did our best.
Bought shoes without laces.
Bought Velcro shoes for my dad.
Bought Velcro shoes for my mom's husband.

A minute

If
for one minute
one single minute
He was clear

What would he say to us?

Would he tell us we are doing a good job?
Would he want to say sorry for the bad days?
Would he tell us he is okay?
Would he hug us and smile?

Or

Would he tell us not to take him to the facility?
Would he tell us we are not doing enough?
Would he say we are not trying hard enough?


What would he say to us?
If he had one precious, single, minute?

Still wonder

We still wonder
If it's something else

We still hear something and look it up
Hoping
This is what it really is
And it has a cure

And he will wake from his fog
And thank us for not giving up
And with clear eyes
tell us about his fog
in past tense

We still wonder
If it's something else
If we can cure him
So he will wake up

We will always wonder
If

Anymore

We decided
Picked a time
Talked with the facility
Made appointments to file papers
Talked with the lawyer
Picked the place
We decided

When
He
Won't live here
At home
Anymore

Not knowing

He talks back to the tv
like it's real

He's upset by the voices
coming from nowhere

He curses at them
who are talking to him
from nowhere
from the tv

He stands in the living room
Looking at the ground
Not knowing it's the tv
Not knowing we are in the room
Not knowing

He turns
Walks down the hallway
Not knowing where he is going
Not knowing where he is
Not knowing