Free Range Chuck

This blog is written in tribute to those of us helping loved ones deal with memory loss, dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease      

[freerangechuck]

The Miraculous TV Tray #28

Yes, that is a Wonder Bread bologna sandwich with Hellmann's on Chuck's TV tray, a staple in his diet.  On his TV tray, one will always find the following: crumbs (from previous meals), a TV remote, a crossword or other game book, a grocery ad from three weeks ago, a date book, and his glasses which he refuses to wear and can never find.

The TV tray, no longer a staple in many homes, is a wonder of the world in my dad's mind.  At any time, he can have two or three tray's carefully situated around his barcalounger, and all the trays are in play at any given time.  In my small home, I gave him a limit of one TV tray while he was staying with me. (The trays are a left-over remnant of when he and mom owned the cottage.) So his overflow went onto the side table next to the couch.  "I can't find my 'fill in the blank'".  "Did you look onto the side table next to your TV tray?"  "Oh, there is the dental floss."  He grabs it and begins to floss his teeth right in the living room while filling in the crossword puzzle.  "Oh hell no Dad.  Floss your teeth in the bathroom, not the living room. Gross."  Chuck waves his hand at me and replies:  "If it is in front of me, I remember to floss my teeth.  Otherwise I forget."  How do I fight that logic?  

"Guess what I found in the side table?  That's where I left my fork from dinner last night." Chuck holds it up like a trophy. Swear word, swear word swear word.  "Dad you can't leave used utensils or plates on or in the tables as I will have a pest problem."  Normally, I am vigilant in doing a 'check' on his area of tables each night after he goes to bed to clean and make sure there is not hidden food, etc. I stupidly didn't even think to look in the drawer of the side table for his dirty fork.  Damn.

The bright side of the TV trays, everything sits out in plain sight; thus my dad's attraction to them.  He can see all the items of his daily life laid out before him, and yes, then he can remember everything before the nightly Memory Wipe happens.  

[freerangechuck]

Going to the Dogs #27

Recently, while my dad was visiting, he saw a few pictures on the refrigerator of my dogs.  He said they looked familiar, but wanted me to tell him their names: Mosby and Puppy (Patzcauro).  For some reason he became fixated on Mosby, a pill of a Weimaraner who I adored.  "Where are they?"  "Dad both Mosby and Puppy passed away."  "Oh." He kept tracing his finger on the the pictures as if that would somehow enlighten his memory of them.  Then out of the blue dad said while pointing at Mosby, "He pushed me out of the bed." He seemed surprised, and I laughed because it was one of the funniest stories my mom ever shared of the many Chuck puppy-sitting adventures.  

All our family pets LOVED my dad; my dad did not always return the sentiment. In their eyes, he could do no wrong.  In his eyes, they were a nuisance that we inflicted upon him as our built-in Grandpuppy sitters.  My mom 'loved' all the four-legged fur babies that came into the house.  While puppy-sitting, my dad was their servant who fed and walked them everyday.  My mom was the warm lap and treat giver.  My parents served important purposes in the eyes of our fur babies.  

As my brother lived within a few miles of my parents, he did not use their puppy-sitting services as much as I did.  I always lived out of the area and travelled extensively.  So my parents would fly down to dog sit or the dogs would be brought to my parents house for the puppy sitting.  Dad did most of the day-to-day caretaking, while my mom would tell the dog stories each night when I called to check in.  My mom could weave a tale like no other, especially when it involved the dogs and my dad.

Mosby was spoiled to no end.  He slept each night in our bed so he of course expected the same with my parents.  My mom was clear that that was not happening while Mosby was staying with them. So they tried everything to get him to sleep on the floor with treats and his baby on the cushy dog bed.  Mosby was having none of it. He crawled as quietly and softly as a 70-lb Weimaraner can manage in between my parents on their queen-sized bed.  Mom would tell him 'No' in her most forceful voice.  Mosby would move back down to his bed for all of 10-15 minutes: rinse, wash and repeat.  

Dad was so frustrated that he said he would go to my brother's old room in the twin sized bed and bring Mosby with him.  I know there must have been much grumbling on the part of my dad and his nuisance grand-puppy.  Dad laid down on the twin bed,  Mosby began on the floor right next to the bed.  Sometime during the night, Mosby did Mosby and crawled into the twin bed with dad and maneuvered his way in between the wall and my dad on the bed.  As Mosby would sleep, he would begin to spread out by pushing out his legs.  Somehow he spread out enough that my dad, in a dead sleep, would move to try and accommodate the pushing.

My mom heard a loud 'thud' and a loud voice.  She jumped out of bed and ran into my brother's old room.  My dad was laying on the floor looking up at Mosby who was cocking his head and standing on the bed looking down at my dad.  Mom said a few choice swear words came out of my dad's mouth as he realized Mosby had effectively pushed him out of the twin bed.  That is when dad gave Mosby the nickname "Devil Dog".  

In re-telling the story to my dad and showing him pictures of Mosby, he nodded that he remembered.  I realized in remembering, it was like a gift.  Chuck smiled and shook his head at the memory.  For a few minutes, he was remembering other Mosby stories.  While I knew he would forget again, I looked forward to re-sharing the puppy stories with dad.  

[freerangechuck]

Grocery Store Illness #26

Chuck has a grocery store addiction.  While on the grand scale of addictions: gambling, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, etc, a grocery store addiction may not seem as terrible.  Maybe this is a common addiction among the elderly; I have no idea. I just know my dad is off the rails deep into this addiction.

While visiting me for the month of June, Chuck asked to go to the grocery store every single day.  I am not exaggerating.  Where did my dad want to go? Chuck is nothing if not egalitarian in his choice of grocery stores:  Wal-Mart, Costco, Aldi's (loves this place), and Meijer (regional).  He is equal opportunity in spreading the love of his grocery store purchases to everyone.  But he has a $25 cash limit at any and all stores.  If the bill goes over that number, the debit card comes out and he swears he will never return to that store again.  "It's too damn expensive.  It's highway robbery."  He can be very dramatic at times.  I live in an area outside of a bigger town.  So I love my local grocery store; while more expensive, it is a nicer, quieter shopping experience.  Chuck had a fit at my local grocery store and was crabbing, very loudly, about the prices.  It was so embarrassing as everyone knows everyone.  Ugh.  

I would call my poor brother and just vent.  While spewing venom, I began to realize that dad would ask to go the grocery store everyday because he wasn't remembering that we had just visited a grocery store the day before.  "The Daily Memory Wipe" occurred, and the experience was already gone.  So he completely forgot that he bought day old donuts and pastries; he forgot he bought a few bags of unbranded candy and snacks.   In the grand scheme of Chuck's life should I care that he is a trans fat junkie?  He's 80 and is in pretty good health.  It is such an internal battle for me.

Meanwhile, my refrigerator was exploding at the seams.

[freerangechuck]

The Daily Memory Wipe #25

"Can I have some brown hot liquid, you know, the stuff that goes in that cup?" "Dad, do you mean 'coffee'?  "Oh, yeah, I forgot the name of the stuff."  This happened a week ago while dad was visiting.  My dad, an experienced coffee drinker from an early age, forgot the name of the 'brown hot liquid'; it made me sick.  He followed it up by, "Can you put some of that white frozen cream on top?"  I pull out a container of Cool Whip he brought with him for strawberry shortcake.  "Did you mean this?", pointing to the Cool Whip.  "Yes, that stuff."  

The loss of words is becoming more 'normal' over the past months.  Everyday words are becoming lost in the deep recesses of dad's mind.  For now, Chuck remembers immediate family members names and faces, but beyond that he is having more difficulty.  I can see the frustration on his face.  He will put his index finger to his temple and tap it.  Somehow that activity seems to make sense to him.  So he will begin to describe the person or a past event that he can remember involving the person in question.  I will offer a few names like a rolodex, and then 'bam' he points at me as in 'yes, that's the name'.  While I have friends who have parents with physical issues in their late 70's and early 80's, sometimes in my selfish moments, I think the mental issues can be tougher to handle.

The part that makes me ill is the understanding that on this Alzheimer's journey my dad will even forget me at some point.  That is the cruel and devastating path that is still before my brother and I.  I cannot even imagine the toll on my dad.  Will he be obliviously happy?  Chuck won't know he doesn't remember us or care what connection we share.  Or will he be buried deep below the surface of his memories?

From my novice experience with my dad's Alzheimer's diagnosis (we are only at a year), I think of this disease as an Etch-A-Sketch.  Each day is an experience (old and new); by the next morning, all the experiences of the previous day are gone: activities, conversations and memories.  They literally get wiped out of Chuck's head.  Just shake, shake shake, and 'Poof' it is all gone.  I call it the 'Daily Memory Wipe'.  The frustration of the situation is obvious for the whole family.  I try my damndest not to make dad feel badly about forgetting a conversation or activity, but somedays I completely fail.  It is this 'raison d'etre' for writing the blog.  This is the sole outlet for my experiences with dad's disease.  If I release the venom and frustration here, I do not release it on my poor father.  

[freerangechuck]

Finders Keepers #24

My dad is developing a horrible habit.  He is finding shiny objects on the ground and picking them up.  He treats it like 'treasure hunting', except that he is conducting the hunt in 'fill-in-the-blank' grocery store, drug store, bank or one of his favorite places like a parking lot.  He finds all kinds of treasures and brings them back to his house.  He has them stuffed in all kinds of places. Then when there is a family get-together, he tries to give them to my poor nieces as gifts.  He doesn't even lie about it.  "Look what I found for you.  Isn't it pretty? Shiny?  I thought you would like it."  God bless them, they just smile and say thank you.  Dad doesn't see the eye rolls and head shaking.  It's GROSS.

The other day, I was in visiting and Chuck and I were going to see my aunt. When we arrived, Dad said "Oh. I forgot."  He pulls something out of his pocket and jams it on his pinky finger.  What???  I do not get a good look at it until we are in my aunt's home.  Chuck actually starts flashing it around.  My aunt, cousin and I cannot stop looking at his pinky finger.  My aunt asks politely, "Chuck where did you find that ring?"  "Oh, I have had it for awhile, but I forget to wear it."  "Dad, it's ugly and missing a stone." First I get his attempt at a death stare (which never works), Grumble Grumble Grumble, my full name comes out and then, "It's a shame.  I think the stones might be worth something."  "Nope, it's glass.  They are not diamonds.  Dad, seriously?"  My cousin who has some precious stones knowledge agrees, but does so in a nicer manner.  "Chuck by the look of the missing stone and breakage, it does look like glass."  "Oh." He is completely deflated by this news.  "Well, I still like it." Nothing more is said.  

For the first time in a long time, I go upstairs to my dad's room.  I begin to open up his nightstand drawer, and there sit all the shiny, ugly, broken treasures dad has been collecting.  I want to cry.  Somehow he has found 'treasure' where I see disgusting junk.  My goal was to throw away all of it, but I cannot. Something has been driving Chuck to save these awful, broken items.  I feel very guilty looking through his private treasures.  Who am I to dispose of them? Who is he hurting?  I can't do it.  I close the drawer and walk away.

[freerangechuck]

Nah Nah Boo Boo #23

Chuck is vain.  Yes, I just wrote that.  He thinks he looks better without his glasses, so forgoes wearing them as much as he can get away with it.  Furthermore, Chuck doesn't believe he needs his glasses while driving around town.  Point of fact:  he does.

A week ago, my brave sister-in-law was riding in the car with my dad to an appointment.  We all let him drive short distances to constantly gauge his driving skills.  The sun was shining, so dad tried to put on non-prescription sun glasses.  My sister-in-law, rightly, told my dad, "Chuck, you need to wear your prescription glasses for driving.  Your sun glasses are not prescription.  We will schedule an appointment and get you some new sun glasses."  Nice.  Easy.  Non-confrontational.  " No I don't.  Since when do I need glasses to drive?"  He is so damn stubborn.  This went back and forth and my sister-in-law told him she would be happy to drive in his place if he refused to wear this prescription glasses.  He finally relented because NO ONE drives Chuck's car but himself.  But the incident didn't end there.  Nope.  Chuck loves proving everyone wrong.

Chuck heads to his local police department.  He shows them his driver's license and asks:  "Am I required to wear glasses while driving?"  The very nice police officer said "No Sir.  You are not required to wear corrective lenses according to your driver's license."  Chuck, all puffed up and technically proven right, heads over to the house of my brother and sister-in-law to tell them 'whats what.'  Hhmmm.  So there.  Nah Nah Boo Boo.  He is right, and she was wrong.  Keep in mind, Chuck has been wearing glasses since middle school.  However, somehow dad passed the vision test at the Secretary of State's Office a few months earlier and thinks it is the gold standard of vision tests.  Grrrrrr.  His eye doctor and primary care physician would disagree. Both state Chuck must wear prescription glasses for everything.

I took some pictures of dad during his birthday celebration last month.  He carefully removed his glasses. I asked why?  "I look more handsome without the glasses."  You have to love that kind of confidence.  

[freerangechuck]

The Rubber-Band Man #22

The rubber-banded wallet is my dad in a nutshell.  The use of the rubber band made more sense when it was wrapped around his George Costanza-sized wallet with receipts ready to explode out of the ripping seams.  But the habit was set, and Chuck immediately wrapped his new wallet in the same rubber band.  So instead of it just holding everything in the wallet, the rubber band gets caught within the fabric of his back pocket.  When he tries to get the wallet out, it gets stuck every time.  So Chuck grumbles, groans and maybe throws an expletive out, each and every time he has to remove the wallet from his back pocket.  It is painful to watch.

Rubber bands are everywhere in the house.  Chuck saves them all, has saved them for decades.  So you can imagine how many are stuffed in every corner of the house, his car, the basement and in the garage.  What can he do with all the rubber bands?  Chuck is nothing if not resourceful, and he can MacGyver them into all kinds of useful purposes.  He couldn't find a 'j' hook, so he used a rubber band in place of it.  The Tupperware lid won't stay on, so a rubber band was used to keep the lid on, kind of.  If he has run out of chip clips, his treasure of hidden snacks in the front closet will stay fresh once Chuck uses a rubber band.  The toilet 'thingy' chain breaks, a rubber band will save the day.  The rubber band should be a superhero.

"Dad, why all the rubber bands stuffed in every nook and cranny of the house?" His answer is always the same, "Because of The Depression.."  In his world, this alone explains everything.  As I have shared before, Chuck was born after the depression; however, there was obviously some residual effect for my dad and his siblings from Lena, my dad's mother.  Honestly, I do not know if her need to 'save' every possible piece of tin foil, plastic container, string and rubber bands ever ended during her lifetime.  So, dad's obsessive need to save everything comes honestly and began with his mother.  

But honestly, I am a hypocrite.  I opened a drawer at my own home to find rubber bands jammed into every corner of the drawer.  I pulled some zip-loc baggies out, and out fell a few rubber bands.  Somehow I have adopted some of Chuck's bad habits. Ugh.  So the idiom is correct:  'The apple does not fall far from the tree.'  

[freerangechuck]

The Royal ‘We’ #21

Chuck uses 'We' in every conversation both public and private.  "We need toilet paper.  We are out of milk.  We are hungry."  Who is 'We'?  When questioned, he merely shrugs it off.  When we are out in public, he will speak to someone: banker, restaurant server, or grocery store cashier and use the term "We."  So the people look at me as included in the "We."  I want to shake my head 'no', but feel like I am being a traitor to dad if I do.  

I can only trace this use of "We" to when my mom was alive.  My parents were a "We" for over four decades.  So Chuck does not know how to be anything but a "We", and yet, it still irks my brother and I when every conversation is about "We.."  As my dad lives alone, there is no "We" anymore.  My mom has been gone for 12 years and is missed everyday.  But I did not think my dad fully realized this fact.  By using the royal 'We", she is still in the conversation.  So mom cannot be really gone.

When I came home recently, there was a note posted on the refrigerator. 'Megan has been gone since 2010.'  Dad's handwriting is almost illegible, but at the bottom of the note was a sad face 😢.  It took me by surprise and I teared up realizing dad wrote this note to remind himself.  He is no longer a 'We' but an 'i'.  Another gut punch.

Memories matter.  So why should it bother my brother or I that Chuck still lives in his safe "We" world?  If it gives him comfort to speak in the "We" terms, why should we care?  Today marks 12 years since her death.  WE miss and love you desperately Mom!

[freerangechuck]

Toilet Paper = Gold #20

No one should have to see a parent in their underwear rummaging for toilet paper.  You cannot unsee it, ever.  And yet, my father and i just had this type of meeting last week.  He came running downstairs to the hall closet, one his many many hiding places, looking for toilet paper.  Help me.

"We are out of toilet paper!"  At 11pm at night, this is equivalent to running out of gas on a dark, lonely stretch of road in the middle of nowhere.  Chuck was panicked.  Stupidly, I just stood there, judging and shaking my head, "Why are you looking in the front closet?"  "That's where I have been putting the TP."  Sure, because that makes perfect sense.  I am not sure what made me walk into the garage, but I did  There on one of the shelves in the garage was an 8 pack of TP.  "Dad, you put the toilet paper in the garage?" "I don't remember."  Cannot get mad at his honesty, and at 11pm at night do not want to start a battle with Chuck.  So I grabbed three rolls and started to run them upstairs.  "What are you doing?"  "Putting some tp upstairs with back up rolls."  "I don't do that."  "Obviously, and you ran out.  You must keep backup rolls, AND keep replenishing them so we do not repeat this."  I pointed to his undress and tidy whiteys.  "No more."  Chuck grumbles some more, but I ignore and run 4 rolls of toilet paper upstairs for good measure.  "Oh, and dad, I am going to put backup rolls in the downstairs bathroom as well. Stop parsing out the toilet paper like it is gold."  I wait for his head to explode. "Now all the new toilet paper is gone!"  I am not going to engage and ignore him.  Crisis averted, for now.

The next morning, the conversation begins anew.  "Dad, what is your aversion to locating back up rolls of toilet paper in the bathrooms, where it is used?"  "I only put one extra roll in each bathroom.  Don't need anymore than that.  Then I can go to the closet or basement to get more if I need it."  "That makes zero sense dad."  "It makes sense to me."  I give Chuck one big eye roll for good measure.  He is immune.  Of late, hIs lack of logic makes me crazy. I actually try to make sense and reason with Chuck, but we end up traveling down a rabbit hole that gets us nowhere and creates frustration.

Toilet paper is basic and a need.  Buy it in bulk at Costco and always keep backup.  What is the alternative?  Where is the argument?

[freerangechuck]

Name That Tune #19

Chuck loves a particular music station on his Sirius XM radio.  Basically it plays elevator music that makes me want to jam hot skewers in my ears. I hate it. I try to turn the channel to anything else and dad loses his mind.  "If you change the channel, I won't be able to find it again."  "What?  Ridiculous.  it is on a preset button."  "Stop playing with my music channels."  "You mean channel, singular."  Ugh.  

So, as a passenger in his car (driving is another whole article topic for later), Chuck loves to hum and sing the lyrics to EVERYTHING.  I slowly hit my head against the passenger window trying to block it out.  Then the Chuckster plays "Name that Tune" in 6 notes with the songs.  Now, riding in the car is sheer torture.  He laughs when he gets the song title right, and almost drives into a ditch when he is wrong because Chuck has to look at the radio screen to see where he went wrong with the song title.  "Oh, that's right.  The correct title of the song is 'blah blah blah.'"  Kill me now.  Even with Alzheimer's, his muscle memory for song lyrics is pretty impressive.  I keep this to myself as it would just encourage him to listen to more bad music while driving.    

Chuck used to have great taste in music.  We had a bright yellow Datsun station wagon with an 8 track player.  He loved Fleetwood Mac, Motown, Supertramp and John Denver, and the list goes on.  What happened?  I have no idea.  When do older people lose their taste in music?  When does elevator music become acceptable?  

So my dad, who loves to penny pinch, is spending $60+ dollars a month for the use of one single channel on Sirius XM.  Truly it is a brilliant business model because there are 10 million other users like my father out there.  Damn.  But hats off to Sirius.  Oh, and I added more presets to his XM radio options.  That won't make him happy, but it's a guilt free crime as he won't remember who did it.  

[freerangechuck]

Tipping isn’t just for Cows #18

Service tipping and my father do not go well together.  Remember, it is perpetually 1982 in Chuck world, and that goes for tipping.  You only tip 10% for service at any restaurant and at any time of the day or night.  He does not recognize, by choice, the tipping increments of 10% 15% or 20%; that is nonsense in Chuck World.Just today, we walked up to the cashier to pay for lunch, $20 and change.  The cashier flips the screen so we can put in the tip and sign it.  I have to step in front of my dad before he gets to it, just as he is saying loudly, $2 for tip.  Nope, I hit the 20% button and boom!  Done and signed.  Dad just stood there and shook his head.  "No. Take that back.  I only want to leave $2."  "No Dad.  She deserves the $4 for her wonderful service."  He gets flustered stuffing the 10,000th receipt in his rubber-banded wallet (a story for a future time).  Chuck grumbles grumbles with more grumbling as the cashier looks down smiling.  She probably hears it all day long.  

As i have worked the Food & Beverage industry both as a server and then a manager, I feel very strongly about tipping.  I get it; we servers are not perfect nor have 100% spot free service.  However, we are there waiting on and serving people for 8+ hours.  As you walked into the restaurant or other service industry establishment, you are wanting something we are providing:  food, drink, entertainment.  Yes, it is the job of the server to take care of the customer when entering our establishment.  We are providing a service, but our service is not gratis.  Generally, we try to 'read' the table and respond accordingly:  being overly attentive and helpful, giving the table space and time, or just becoming the invisible hands that bring the food and drinks with almost little to no interaction.  We are not mind readers and sometimes 'read' the table incorrectly.  However, leaving nasty messages after we just spent 40 - 70 minutes with you is passive-aggressive behavior that has nothing to do with the poor server but your own personal issues. And we deal with that ridiculous behavior all day and all night long.  But then there are the customers that make your day and night, and I am not referring to the tips.  During the table service, a genuine relationship begins to form; it goes beyond normal server-customer interaction. That is why some of us love the service industry and stay in it.

This is a highly contentious topic; I have heard everything on both sides.  I will always take the side of the service staff.  I know and understand what goes into restaurant service, more than most people would ever understand or witness. Quite simply, we the service personnel wait on and take care of the customers. If you do not want our service, then why go out?  If all you are looking for is getting a beer and do not want to be bothered by the service staff, stay at home.  

As for my dad and his horrible tipping record, I remind Chuck of this fact every time we go out.  You can wait on yourself for FREE at home.  Dad just rolls his eyes at me.

[freerangechuck]

The Weather #17

What is the fascination with the weather when a person turns 70 years of age? I do not understand it.  Chuck would choose to watch The Weather Channel over news any minute of the day.

So he is watching The Weather Channel while bitching constantly about it. "They only focus on the East Coast and the south.  Why is that?"  Grumble grumble grumble about not showing local weather news.  "Maybe after I feed the birds, they will show our area."  Chuck stomps off to the back deck. All I can do is shake my head.  So I turn the channel to the local news which offers LOCAL weather every 10-15 minutes.  "Did you change the channel?"  "Yes Dad, so you can see the local weather report as reported on a local news channel."  At this point he is actually mad that I dared turned the channel.  Oh, and the local weather is reported.  He waves his hand at me like I am annoying him.  "That's not the weather I want."  "WAT?"  Is there weather that I do not know about that is more interesting?  Drama Driven? Ridiculous?  I finally walk away and leave him to his craziness.  

I am working on my computer in another room, Chuck tracks me down to tell me it is raining outside.  "Yes, dad I can hear it."  "I just wanted you to be aware of the weather."  "Thank you."  He has Captain Obvious down to a tee.  I am sitting in the same room with him at night.  I am reading while he is watching the same news report the same stuff over and over.  "It's snowing out.  Oh, that's not good."  "Dad, why does it matter?  You are not going anywhere.  You can sit home safely while it is snowing out."  "I suppose you are right."  And yes, with the Alzheimer's, the weather attraction has grown.  Why?  It makes no sense to me.  

I come back later to ask if he finally found his local weather report.  He shakes his head 'no.'  BTW there are constant weather reports available on his phone, but there is some unexplained NEED to see the folks of The Weather Channel. Why?  Do they deliver the weather news differently?  Sure, they can build the story and drama of a small rainstorm into the bombing of Nagasaki; it really is a marvel to watch.  

While it makes me crazy, my dad eats it up.

[freerangechuck]

SQUIRREL! #16

"So why do I have to have someone else snowplow my driveway?  I am capable!"  "Sure dad.  Well if you trip or fall, who will find you?  We worry about you."  "Did you see the price of milk?  It's robbery." SQUIRREL! The one conversation is not even remotely connected to the first.  That is why my brother calls my dad Dug from the Pixar film "Up"  

At any given time, we will be answering a question he has asked or explaining something (always to his dissatisfaction), and the next thing Chuck will do is a 180 degree turn in the conversation. Trying to keep up is exhausting. Trying to keep one, clear coherent line of thought is near to impossible with my dad.  This applies to conversations and daily tasks.

There will be a half-eaten bagel (or whatever) sitting on the counter, he will be sitting in front of the tv making comments about a world event, and then he will say "I'm hungry.  I need to to eat.  Where's my coffee?  Should I drive to the post office to mail this letter?"  He has forgotten he was in the middle of eating, the coffee cup was left on the washer in the half bath, and then he is searching for stamps.  Chuck is literally all over the place.  Keeping up makes my brother and I mental.  

Most incidents are harmless and some very funny, but of late there have been a few conversations that demonstrate more serious issues.  Chuck will look at a picture of himself on his calendar and tell someone it is a picture of his dad.  It does not seem to matter if the picture is two years old or 30.: he no longer recognizes himself in pictures.  That's the gut punch.  

But the incident is short-lived as the next thing Chuck does is offer the person a donut from his stash hidden in the garage.  SQUIRREL!

[freerangechuck]

Tag-team #15

To successfully handle my father, my brother and I have to tag-team him.  Alone, neither of us would survive this journey through Alzheimer's.  Together, we can manage my dad's diagnosis and still stay sane.

My brother came up with a 'spit-ball' list.  What is this?  Spit ball means my brother is throwing out ideas to see if I agree and the ideas stick to the wall; if the idea has merit, then it will be transferred to the 'must-do' Chuck list.  For example, my mother, who is deceased, is still on most of my dad's accounts, the house, car etc etc etc.  Chuck has not had the energy or drive to remove her from anything; this way he does not have to deal with her loss as finite.  Her ashes sat on a table in the sun (because my dad said she liked it there) for about 8 years.   We tag-teamed my dad that it was finally time to bury her, and it was accomplished. So, now it is time to remove my mom from all his paperwork, and this became one of our top 'spit-ball' items.  The 'spit-ball' list is almost two full pages long and exhausting to think about.  

But, by tag teaming Chuck, we can actually handle the crazy.  By sharing the load and responsibility, it serves to help my brother and I from becoming angry and bitter with my poor dad.   We can actually email, text, phone call, or in-person share 'Chuck' stories that helps release the venom and create much needed levity.  

Some days Dad actually figures out we are tag-teaming him and he gets Chuck-mad; that is not actually angry but crotchety and annoyed with us.  "I don't like it when you and your brother 'beat me up.'  I have survived 80 years without your help; I am just fine."  So there!  

He usually remembers to be angry with us for about 12-24 hours, then the memory wipe happens and it is all sunshine and rainbows in Chuck-World again.

[freerangechuck]

Sugar-phobes:  BEWARE #14

Chuck begins each new morning with a cup of instant coffee (he has forgotten how to use the percolator) and an oooey, gooey frosting laden donut.  Yep.  But let's be clear the donuts Chuck buys are the 'day old' donuts.  In his mind, they are just as good. It makes my teeth hurt just to think of it.

When I come home to see my dad, he loves to push the 'start your day off with a donut.'  He thinks I should also begin my dad this way. However, I have successfully survived the years of food-pushing as I am a salty-savory person.  Sugar is not my thing.  He eventually gives up and says 'more for him.'  Sure.  

Then there is the 'snack drawer' that is over-flowing with candy, chocolate chips, more candy (seasonal back from Halloween and Christmas that is still good according to Chuck), bars of old chocolate, and the old person butterscotch and coffee-flavored candies.  If I even attempt to clean and 'organize' (code word for pitch) my dad loses his mind.  Chuck will stand over the trash can and bar my way from throwing the stuff away.  If the candy wrappers weren't that loud, crinkly sounding plastic, he would never hear me.  Please candy makers, stop using that old plasticky loud wrapping.  

As far as the carb heavy food items (with all kinds of added sugars) Chuck hides in all kinds of places throughout the house and garage:  bread, donuts, bagels, rolls of all kinds, crackers and chips; he should weigh 800 lbs and be in horrible health.  He is not.  The Chuckster is about 175 lbs at 5'10".  His sugar levels should be through the roof?  Nope.  He tests his blood everyday.  While a little elevated from normal, that's it.  "I am just fine.  Leave me alone."  It is difficult to fight his modus operandi; it has worked for 80 years.

Here's a question for everyone; dad is having a difficult time recognizing people in pictures (even himself), but somehow he can remember where he hid the box of Triscuits in the back of closet so I did not 'organize' it to the trash can.  How is that possible?

[freerangechuck]

Lost Memories #13

Every Christmas, I make a Shutterfly calendar for my dad.  I load it with lots of old family pictures, which Chuck loves.  Everyone's birthdays and special events appear in the calendar. Chuck asks me if I remembered to do one each year.  "Did you remember to do my calendar this year?"  "Yes Dad."  "And you marked everyones birthdays?"  "Yup."  Aside from all the work it takes to put one calendar together, the end result is worth it for nothing more than to see my dad's face when he opens it each year.  Chuck's face lights up and he will point to pictures and offer the story behind the old photos.  2022 was the 5th year in a row I did a calendar for him.  I was especially proud of the work I did on the 2022 calendar.

On Christmas Eve, I let dad open this gift early.  He opened the calendar and started paging through the different months.  He did not say much but smiled at all the pictures, but something was off.  He looked at me, pointed to a picture of himself taken at the beach this past summer and asked "How did you get a picture of my dad?"  I had to digest his question.  "Dad, Grandpa is not at the beach.  That is you."  "No, I am not that old."  "Dad, that picture was taken this summer at the beach.  Grandpa has been gone for 20 years.  It is you."  "Well I don't recognize him."  I did not want to over-react and hammer the issue any more.  He moved onto other months.  There was a picture of my brother and I as elementary-aged children with my mom and dad at the beach in the late 1970's..  "Who are those blond kids? And who is that woman and man?"  "Wait, dad, that is mom, you and your children."  "I don't recognize them.  Are you sure?"  I felt sick.  The same questions happened with several other months.  I told a friend what was happening and she suggested 'Sundowners'; she had experienced the same problem with her father.

I tested the theory and made dad go through the same calendar the next morning at my brother's house.  He was able to name and label every picture and most locations.  While the Christmas Eve incident scared me, I realized that would be our future.  For now, Chuck recognizes all of us, although names are starting to disappear.  But what happens when he no longer knows us?  That is the selfish question as my dad won't necessarily care if he remembers or not.  There won't be any framework or context for who the strangers are that keep bugging him.  

But what happens when a person loses their memories?  What is their anchor and connection to this life?

[freerangechuck]

Feed the Birds #12

Every morning at 9am, dad head's out onto the back deck and puts out stale popcorn, bird seed, old bread crusts and crackers, and let's be honest, old donuts he forgot about after he hid them in the garage. It does not matter the weather. The birds love Chuck. They swirl around and greet him as he opens the back deck door. They know. And, dad loves it. The only downside is my dad's back deck looks something like the 'Bird-Lady' sitting on the steps of St. Paul's in Mary Poppins.  The birdseed and bird poop are everywhere; Chuck does not care.

What is it about getting older and loving birds?  Most of my neighbors, also elderly and retired, have tons of bird houses in their backyards.  Why?  Every time we speak on the phone, Chuck will tell me bird stories.  'His birds' did this and that, and he laughs at his own stories.  He'll also buys different bird seed formulas to see if the bird palette's like his choices.  "Oh no, they did not like the bird seed I put out this morning, and they let me know.  I will have to put out some more bread crusts and stale hot dog buns; they like that."  

For my dad who lives alone, the birds are company and entertainment all rolled into one.  It may sound sad, but he loves the birds.  They sing to him and he might sing back.  It's a win-win relationship.  I believe he loves the daily routine of taking care of 'his birds'; they give him hours of entertainment and allow him to be the caretaker.  The constant daily routines keep Dad active and engaged and seem to keep the symptoms of Alzheimer's at bay, for now.

The mess on the back deck is livable for now.  He wins and the birds definitely win.  Come on now, donuts??  Chuck swears the birds prefer the apple fritters.

However, when he begins to have full conversations with 'his birds', then I will be worried.