July 23, 2016 -- Nonfiction

This was my father on July 20, 2016. It was taken his first morning at New Dawn Memory Care. He had had a good night and looked better than I'd seen him in some time. And he was lucid. We had a conversation.

Daddy has dementia. I don't know if it's vascular dementia or Alzheimer's. It doesn't matter. Both lead to death by a circuitous and often torturous road.

He had been living in a residential care home, but he had started exhibiting aggressive behaviors -- pushing, lashing out physically -- and they asked us to move him because they were not set up to take care of patients like him. 

My father had never been aggressive in his life, as far as I knew. He didn't drink. I'd never heard him use profanity. The most violent thing I'd ever seen him do was many years ago when I was in high school.

My mother, brother, and I were at the breakfast table with Daddy. And Daddy lost his temper with Momma. Now, you've got to understand that my mother who was an interesting, brilliant, and passionate woman could be the most frustrating person on the planet. But Daddy just never seemed to get mad at her. That morning we were having pancakes and there was a stick of butter still in its wrapper sitting on the table. He got so angry he snatched up that stick of butter and hurled it to the floor right next to his chair. 

I don't remember what Momma was going on about, but I can guarantee you that we all hushed up.

Daddy still doesn't use profanity, but, and I've never witnessed it myself, his care givers have said he's pushed them, struck out at them, and held them by their wrists and wouldn't let go. These are caring women, but they are small. Daddy, though not large compared to most of my family, is about 5'9" 152 pounds and physically quite strong.

He has minor to moderate hearing loss compounded by the dementia. Because he is slow to comprehend speech and then formulate the appropriate response, people think he doesn't hear them. They talk louder, literally raising their voice. When we lose our hearing, it often presents in the loss of the higher tones. So he hears less that is recognizable and feels that he is being shouted at which leads to agitation. 

The caregivers were not native English speakers and had strong accents. One of the symptoms of his dementia involved frightening hallucinations so you add to that being spoken to in an English he didn't understand and I think he felt threatened and was trying to protect himself.

He was wheelchair-bound so it was pretty easy for them to keep him corralled, but finding a regular nursing home that would accept him was impossible because of the aggressive behavior. I thought if we could just get his medications adjusted, his agitation and aggression could be controlled.  The homes I talked to were not prepared to take on that responsibility. And I understand that. 

I want Daddy to be safe and comfortable. I also want the people who care for him to be safe.

One of the nursing homes I talked to called me back and suggested that Daddy go to a memory care facility long enough to get his meds adjusted and then he could move into a nursing home.

Memory care facilities are very expensive and the ones I had talked to do not take Medicare/Medicaid. Daddy's current financial situation will pay for his care for a while, but it can take a long time for a person with dementia to die. It certainly is not beyond imagining that he will outlive his money. So I've got to make his money go as far as it will and then we will have to tap into whatever benefits we can. Including Medicare/Medicaid.

With dementia there are good days and bad days. Often there are good moments and bad moments. That first night at New Dawn was a good one. That next day when this picture was taken was a good one.

His second day there I resumed my preferred manner of life -- a walk, then my Silver Sneakers exercise class. I had been spending time each morning with Daddy because he was calm while I was there. We had a private care giver come in every afternoon except holidays when the cost doubled. I covered those afternoons. 

It hadn't been bad. Much of the time we talked about old times, went for walks when it wasn't too hot, played catch with a big ball, or just sat quietly waiting for lunch.

That second day while I was walking and exercising, Daddy fell twice. The first time was at breakfast. He dropped his spoon on the floor and was leaning over to pick it up. They called while I was walking, but assured me he was fine.

Before I arrived for my afternoon visit, he had fallen out of his chair again. They didn't know exactly how it happened, but I knew from experience that Daddy often thinks he sees things on the floor and will try to pick them up. The second fall had caused injuries to his right shoulder and ribs. 

When I got there he was in a big easy chair listing far to his right, propped on a pillow, and extremely confused. Any movement caused him a great deal of pain. I had to decide. To transport to a hospital or not to transport.

They could and would do x-rays there at New Dawn. So we could determine if anything was broken without transporting. They could and would get pain meds prescribed by their physician. Okay.

But to determine whether or not he'd had a stroke would require a CT scan at a hospital.

I tried to get Daddy to smile. One of the symptoms of stroke is drooping on one side of the face, easily noticeable when a patient smiles. There was maybe a little drooping. One eye seemed slightly more dilated than the other, but when the nurse used a pen light, both eyes reacted appropriately.

Then the question was, if he had had a stroke how would he be treated differently at a hospital than where he was. At New Dawn they have a registered nurse 24 hours a day. They have a doctor on call 24 hours a day. And we had long ago, along with a capable Daddy, decided we would take no heroic, life-saving actions. 

So we decided not to transport, and I fed him his supper in the chair where he sat listing to his right.

The nurse asked me to consider applying for hospice care. For some families that's a frightening suggestion, but not for me. We had had hospice with my mother during her last days. And one of the ladies at the residential care facility had just graduated from hospice. That means she had stabilized and was not likely to die in the near future. So I did not take the nurse's suggestion as an indicator that she was announcing a death sentence for Daddy.

My only experience with hospice had been a good one. My sister-in-law is a hospice nurse. I have never heard of a bad hospice. The next morning I met with a Compassus intake worker. She examined Daddy and his records and signed us up. They will provide the supplies and equipment he will need. They will help us find a nursing home when he's ready for the move. And they will follow him. They will be a second set of eyes and minds working with whatever facility he's in. They will give me the information I will need to make whatever decisions I will need to make. I can't tell you what a weight that has taken off my shoulders.

So come the next morning I walked with my walking group at Main Reservoir. I was not worried about Daddy and it was a beautiful day. There was a white pelican on the water. And cormorants, and duck families. People were fishing or just sharing the shade. We met or were passed by other walkers, each as friendly as the ones before and after.

A small backwater on the north side of the lake.

See the line of algae across the middle of the picture?

It looks as though it's floating in the air.

Some of us walked to the Starbucks by the lake for coffee and whatever. I know. I know. Walking like this will do nothing good for your waistline, but the companionship will sooth the soul.

After lunch, the hospice nurse called to tell me that Daddy was doing less well. She had increased his pain medication and changed his diet to pureed food and thickened liquids. Choking is a real risk for patients who can't sit upright to eat and drink. Not so much because they'll choke to the point of not being able to breathe, but aspiration of anything into the lungs can cause pneumonia which would be one more danger and discomfort for Daddy.

I shouldn't have been surprised to see what condition Daddy was in, but I was. He's now pretty much bedridden. He didn't know me.

I live in metropolitan Denver. We are in the High Plains Desert which means we usually measure rainfall in tenths or even hundredths of inches and we are glad to get whatever we can. The sun here is fierce so clouds are a joy both for the immediate relief of summer heat and the promise of precipitation to come. 

 This is what I saw on my way home.

In the distance are the Foothills of the
Front Range Mountains. The light here
is ever a wonder. If you look closely
you can see shafts of sunlight alternating with
the dark of what could be either rain or virga.

And closer to home

That bald rounded hill in the distance is my Green Mountain. Because it doesn't have trees to speak of and rises almost alone from the prairie I can recognize it from anywhere in the Denver area and I know home is that way. A good anchor in the world when you don't know if tomorrow will be a good day or a bad one.

Daddy's 90th Birthday

This is my Dad.

Yesterday was his ninetieth birthday. He was born in Oklahoma County in the State of Oklahoma on May 30, 1925, Decoration Day.

Decoration Day had become a traditional holiday in the United States to commemorate the war dead following the Civil War which ended in 1865.  The name gradually changed to Memorial Day, not most commonly used until after World War II. It wasn’t officially called Memorial Day until 1967.

Daddy was born at home. He weighed just over ten pounds. His mother, Emma Mae Jarvis Weber, was a tiny little thing, barely five feet tall and not much more than 100 pounds.

His father, Lawrence Leland Weber, farmed with mules and took pride in his teams and his saddle horses. If he hadn’t already, and Daddy can’t be sure he hadn’t, he soon acquired a Model T Ford.

Daddy’s sister, Leland Mae was a toddler.

And Daddy was duly named Lawrence Alvin, making his initials LAW. Grandma felt that having initials that spelled something would be good luck.

Speaking of luck, his astrological sign was Gemini which holds that he’s supposed to be energetic, clever, imaginative, witty, and adaptable – all of which he is, plus courteous and kind. I’ve never observed him to have any of the negative characteristics Gemini are supposed to have.

Chinese astrology says that Daddy was born in the year of the Ox. People born under this sign are said to be hardworking, discreet, modest, industrious, charitable, loyal, punctual, philosophical, patient, and good-hearted individuals with high moral standards. All true of my Daddy.

In the real world that Saturday, the moon was in its first quarter. The high temperature that day was 87^o, the low was 68^o, and no precipitation. The Stock Market was closed for the holiday, but ended the day before at $129.95. That’s very low by today’s standard, but it was robust for then and on the rise. More importantly to Daddy’s family was the price of cotton – $19.62 per hundred weight. 1925 would be a good year for cotton producers.

There would be two more sisters, Virginia Ellen, and Thelma Grace.

Daddy grew up during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl. His experiences were as a white child in a segregated community where most of the white people were related to him or related to someone who was related to him. His circle of friends came ready-made from birth. They were kith and kin.

In 1943, in the midst of World War II, he left school to join the Navy. He became a Seabee and served in the Pacific Theater of War. 

As with many young men of that time, it was his first experience away from home. Those young men were from all parts of the country, big cities, small towns, and the countryside. They were all there – young men from the Northeast, the Upper Midwest, the Deep South, the Great American Plains, and the West Coast.

They were farmers’ sons and factory laborers’ sons, longshoremen’s sons, doctors’ sons, bakers’ sons, and preachers’ sons. Some were single. Some were married with sons and daughters of their own. Each had joined the navy for his own reason, but all were there for the duration – until the war ended, whenever that would be. And again, Daddy’s circle of friends was ready-made.

When he came back into civilian life, he returned to Oklahoma County and his rural roots. He married a local girl, Peggy Hrdlicka. His Aunt June who was married to Momma’s Uncle Ray complained that she hadn’t gotten any new relatives out of the marriage. It was in fact the third of four marriages between Daddy’s family and Momma’s family.

Daddy farmed for a while and they had me. Then almost two years later they had my brother Matt. Each time the cost of our delivery was paid for by the sale of a cow.

Daddy was constantly on the lookout to improve our lot and it was pretty clear that he wouldn’t be able to buy his own farm so he went to work for the Rural Electric Co-op as a lineman. Then to Oklahoma Gas and Electric.

Then he bought a service station. For those of you too young to remember, that was a place you stopped at to refuel your car. You would stay in your car while an attendant came running out to fill your gas tank, wash your windows, check your oil, take payment for the gas (cash or credit only – no credit cards existed then.) He wished you a safe journey, thanked you, and invited you to come back.

They also took care of your car’s maintenance and repair – everything from washing and vacuuming to new windshield wiper blades to engine overhauls. These were where they made their money, not the gasoline sales. Those were basically come-ons to get your other business.

The service station didn’t work out, primarily due to Oklahoma’s “gas wars.” In today’s climate where you’re glad to get $2.50 plus gas, gas wars seem like a myth. The stations – and like today, there was one on almost every corner – would undercut each other on gas prices. This went so far as to get gas down to nine cents a gallon. That was cheaper than Daddy could buy the gas.

So he went to work for Sears, Roebuck selling household appliances. That was the first and only time Daddy dressed in a suit for something other than church. And from there to the City of Edmond’s Electric Department, then to Edmond’s Water Treatment Plant, then to Edmond’s new hospital as their Executive Housekeeper where he supervised the entire housekeeping and maintenance staff, then to Oklahoma Christian College where he again supervised the maintenance staff and grounds crews.

And finally, he retired.

He left the farm early on, but it was always with him. He gardened. He bought an acreage and gardened on a grand scale. He raised goats for milk, chickens for eggs and meat. He raised rabbits and two or three pigs, and a couple of cows at a time for meat. He had bees for honey. All before retirement. And after.

In all this time, he left Oklahoma County only for vacations. With the exception of living a short time in Payne County when he first went to work for REA. That’s about fifty miles away, an easy car trip home each weekend.

He added work friends and his family regularly added family friends to his circle.

Then after caring for Momma in the last few years of her life and living on his own in Oklahoma County, he and I joined our households. Three years ago we moved to Lakewood, Colorado, for my husband’s job.

Lakewood, a suburb of Denver, is more than half again as big as Edmond, the town we called home in Oklahoma. Denver is twice as big as Oklahoma City, population-wise. And we didn’t know anyone here. No ready-made circle of friends.

We have care-givers from Visiting Angels help Daddy five mornings a week now and we go to an exercise class Mondays and Wednesdays at Carmody Recreation Center. So when Daddy’s 90th birthday was approaching, I didn’t consider throwing a party because “who would we invite?” We didn't really have friends or relatives here.

Daddy’s close friends and relatives who are still living, live a long way away.

But Carol, one of Daddy’s care-givers, wanted to know what we were going to do for Daddy’s birthday and I told her I hadn’t planned anything. Well, she said she was going to do something anyway. And Yolanda, Daddy’s primary care-giver, said I should have a party for him and invite the people from our exercise class.

So that’s what we did. My husband, our daughter, her fiance, and Daddy, too. They all helped get ready for the party. Daddy and his care-giver Richard peeled and chopped apples for Daddy's famous apple pie. I baked -- cookies, the pies, a chocolate cake.

Daddy and I wondered who would come. How many would come? Would the sun shine or would it rain? Did we have enough food? 

They came and we had enough food. The sun shone. The house was full and guests spilled out onto the deck. Three of his care-givers (two with spouses in-tow) and lots of people from the exercise class came. Relatives from all over called to wish him Happy Birthday. He had a very good time. We all did.

And, you know what? Daddy has a ready-made circle of friends wherever he is. 

 Richard from Visiting Angel, Daddy, 

and Louise from Exercise Class.