This weekend I made a fairly last minute decision to go to
Toronto to a Christmas party with some of my oldest and dearest high school
friends. Each year I worry that I
won’t be able to make the party- you never know when it’s going to be or what
conflicts I’ll have with the date, but I am proud to say I have not EVER even
ONCE missed it. This year my
attendance was ALMOST thwarted by a late afternoon pirate birthday party and
one of my patients generous gift of laryngitis, but my thoughtful husband shooed
me out the door, generously agreeing to care for the kids so I
could pop down on my own.
It is SO refreshing to reconnect with people who you have
known and loved all of your life. It is even MORE refreshing to hang out with
non-medical, childless people and have a little reminder of how the rest of the
world lives.
But I think perhaps the BEST part of this short trip to
Toronto was my unexpected golden moment I had with my dad this morning.
My father has dementia. It has been in the works for years, but we got the official A-diagnosis a few months ago and it has made it seem surprisingly worse. I know it’s a clinical diagnosis and one we have suspected for years, but somehow giving this beast a name has accentuated its cruelty to me. When someone you love has dementia - in whatever form or name it is given – you grieve slowly as the unrelenting process unfolds and you slowly watch your loved one wither away, piece by piece. When you stop to reflect on them you see them as a progressive accumulation of things they can no longer do – my dad hasn’t read a book in years, he no longer contributes to dinner time conversation, he NEVER knows where my mother is and, saddest of all, often forgets the names of his own grandchildren.
Some things haven’t changed, though. I got home from my party
last night just after midnight and was unsurprised to see his bedroom light still on. He has ALWAYS waited up for me. Sure enough, there he was sitting in
the kitchen in his tattered old pajamas drinking cranberry juice all by himself eagerly awaiting my return. He
asked where I’d been and then announced that he was off to bed just before he
made me PROMISE that I would come say goodbye to him in the morning before I
drove home.
This morning I slept until after 8, enjoyed a uniquely
peaceful kid-free conversation with my mother and was ready to go by 9am. I always hesitate to wake my dad
up at such an ungodly hour (he usually sleeps until well past ten – what a
life!!!) but my mom convinced me to go in anyways. I found him upstairs fast asleep and quietly kissed him on
the cheek and whispered that I was leaving. My dad went from fast asleep to loudly moaning in sadness,
“Oh, NO! I get so sad when you go,
Lyssie,” he said, “I miss you so much…”
I gave him a hug and reassured him that I WAS returning in just 2 days
and responded to his puzzled look by reminding him that it was Dec 23rd
and that we’d be here on Christmas day to celebrate with him.
It was as if I’d told him it was Christmas. (Wait a minute- - I HAD told him it was Christmas!) He was SO happy to hear the SHOCKING news that he took my hand, thanked me profusely, and then snuggled back into his pillow to sleep. Based on the smile on his face I have no doubt he had some visions of sugarplums dancing around in there…
I kissed him again and smiled but it wasn’t until I was
driving home that I realized with more clarity why I felt so invigorated. Here I have been these past few years
focusing on all of the pieces of my dad I’ve lost, when this morning I got the
gift of clearly seeing all that I still have. In such a short moment our brief exchange left me happy and fulfilled, knowing how loved I
am by my father. He’s still here
this year and just showing up with the kids is going to make his day on
Christmas. What a gift it is to be
able to have and share love so easily with family.
This is likely to be my last post of the year and I want to
close by thanking you, as always, for following my blog and encouraging my indulgent
blogging hobby with your generous comments. I want to wish you all a wonderful Christmas season/holiday
with your friends and family. And
I want to ask you to, at some point this holiday, take a moment – just a brief
one – and look around at all that you have and everyone who is there with
you. And be thankful. I know I am this year.
Merry Christmas!
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