Daddy's Little Girl
Daddy’s Little Girl
Half a century has passed since I was Daddy’s little girl.
Dad is now 83 and I am 53.
Up until nearly fifty years ago, I was his little shadow, often accompanying him to work,
where I played quietly or drew pictures with my color pencils, while he went about his business.
By the time I was four, my importance in his life declined quickly, with the arrival of my siblings, divorce from our mother, followed by more wives, divorces, romances, step children....
I became “lost in the shuffle” as they say, alienated from Dad, and of little interest to him.
Recently, the tide has turned and things have changed dramatically, because, now Daddy has dementia.
Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease six weeks ago...a very recent six weeks,
but with a rapid decline in his mental and emotional health.
Physically he is robust for his age, having invested in triple bypass surgery 12 years ago, and, more recently, a defibrillator for his heart. He took steps to maintain his health and stamina, not only for himself, but as a companion to his younger, and very pretty, current wife, who, sadly, is now in poor health herself.
Four weeks ago, in a burst of Alzheimer’s anger he erupted and spewed out to me...
”YOU are the rotten apple of the family! Our family was happy until you came along!”
Although, logically, his statements made no sense; “our family?” Who was he referring to? He and my mother, who fifty years ago, attempted to conceive a child (me!) for years? Me, the “rotten apple?”He always bragged about my high grades and awards from school.
Nevertheless, I, a grown woman, took this illogical outburst quite literally and burst into tears.
He continued “I don’t care if you cry! Your tears don’t bother me one bit!”
He spoke with such bitterness that I could not bear to face him again for several days. When I finally gathered the nerve to return to visit him the following week, it was obvious that he had no recollection whatsoever of the “incident” and was clearly very happy to see me.
Yet, soon thereafter, on another evening, he refused to allow me to hug or kiss him good night, after he became angry about being left in the company of a hired caregiver nurse for the evening. As I pecked him on the cheek to say “good bye”, he clenched his jaw tightly and held his arms, straight as boards at his side when I reached around to hug him. He would not even look at me, so fierce was his anger about being left with the night nurse in his home.
I did not realize that, in the grips of Alzheimer’s disease, all of the anger that he expressed towards me, was really a release of the frustration and pain he felt by being separated from his beloved wife, while she, now battling cancer, was hospitalized.
Dad has settled down considerably during the past few weeks, and for the time being, I am no longer the “enemy”. On the contrary; in an uninhibited manner, that I have not experienced since I was a child, he tells me, “I love you” and thanks me for every little thing I do for him. Yesterday he told me how much he appreciates me, something that no matter how much I have tried to please him during the past half century, I have never heard expressed by him on any level.
As I assume more and more care giving duties, I notice that, in many ways, he has reverted and displays a childlike innocence, or awe, about many things.
I also notice that I have reverted too. Now I often call him “Daddy” a noun that I have not used for fifty years. I feel comfortable with this, and I sense that he does too.
“Daddy, would you like for me to make you a cup of coffee?” My question and his response are as natural and comfortable as if we had not been separated by all these many years of estrangement.
I don’t know how long this period of peace will last in our relationship, as I have learned that the condition of patients diagnosed with Alzheimer’s can change quickly. However, I am thankful for this time with him. Although I thought I had finally come to a place in life where I no longer sought his approval, I realize, deep down, that I hope that he will finally accept me.
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Daddy Has Dementia
Copyright©2011 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved
Half a century has passed since I was Daddy’s little girl.
Dad is now 83 and I am 53.
Up until nearly fifty years ago, I was his little shadow, often accompanying him to work,
where I played quietly or drew pictures with my color pencils, while he went about his business.
By the time I was four, my importance in his life declined quickly, with the arrival of my siblings, divorce from our mother, followed by more wives, divorces, romances, step children....
I became “lost in the shuffle” as they say, alienated from Dad, and of little interest to him.
Recently, the tide has turned and things have changed dramatically, because, now Daddy has dementia.
Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease six weeks ago...a very recent six weeks,
but with a rapid decline in his mental and emotional health.
Physically he is robust for his age, having invested in triple bypass surgery 12 years ago, and, more recently, a defibrillator for his heart. He took steps to maintain his health and stamina, not only for himself, but as a companion to his younger, and very pretty, current wife, who, sadly, is now in poor health herself.
Four weeks ago, in a burst of Alzheimer’s anger he erupted and spewed out to me...
”YOU are the rotten apple of the family! Our family was happy until you came along!”
Although, logically, his statements made no sense; “our family?” Who was he referring to? He and my mother, who fifty years ago, attempted to conceive a child (me!) for years? Me, the “rotten apple?”He always bragged about my high grades and awards from school.
Nevertheless, I, a grown woman, took this illogical outburst quite literally and burst into tears.
He continued “I don’t care if you cry! Your tears don’t bother me one bit!”
He spoke with such bitterness that I could not bear to face him again for several days. When I finally gathered the nerve to return to visit him the following week, it was obvious that he had no recollection whatsoever of the “incident” and was clearly very happy to see me.
Yet, soon thereafter, on another evening, he refused to allow me to hug or kiss him good night, after he became angry about being left in the company of a hired caregiver nurse for the evening. As I pecked him on the cheek to say “good bye”, he clenched his jaw tightly and held his arms, straight as boards at his side when I reached around to hug him. He would not even look at me, so fierce was his anger about being left with the night nurse in his home.
I did not realize that, in the grips of Alzheimer’s disease, all of the anger that he expressed towards me, was really a release of the frustration and pain he felt by being separated from his beloved wife, while she, now battling cancer, was hospitalized.
Dad has settled down considerably during the past few weeks, and for the time being, I am no longer the “enemy”. On the contrary; in an uninhibited manner, that I have not experienced since I was a child, he tells me, “I love you” and thanks me for every little thing I do for him. Yesterday he told me how much he appreciates me, something that no matter how much I have tried to please him during the past half century, I have never heard expressed by him on any level.
As I assume more and more care giving duties, I notice that, in many ways, he has reverted and displays a childlike innocence, or awe, about many things.
I also notice that I have reverted too. Now I often call him “Daddy” a noun that I have not used for fifty years. I feel comfortable with this, and I sense that he does too.
“Daddy, would you like for me to make you a cup of coffee?” My question and his response are as natural and comfortable as if we had not been separated by all these many years of estrangement.
I don’t know how long this period of peace will last in our relationship, as I have learned that the condition of patients diagnosed with Alzheimer’s can change quickly. However, I am thankful for this time with him. Although I thought I had finally come to a place in life where I no longer sought his approval, I realize, deep down, that I hope that he will finally accept me.
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Daddy Has Dementia
Copyright©2011 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved