Page 117 - November 2020

Litterateur 117
November 2020

ME, DAD AND ALZHEIMER

After a great deal of persuasion, I took him to the best neurologist in the town when
he returned. Medical check-ups, analyses, experiments…where I first encountered
Alzheimer’s, and it follows us since then. My massive research and countless

meetings with many doctors didn’t provide even a little hope. No cure…

My mom and I came to the conclusion that our home is the best place for him, even
though hospitals are a much better-preferred location in many cases. Since I had to
work all day, I was aware of the fact that it would be my mom who would have to put
up with all mental and physical suffering that emerged from her solicitude towards
her husband with such condition. I lacked time with my boyfriend, and troubles
began in our relationship too. Although we previously had a long-standing
relationship and a mutual understanding, Alzheimer’s changed everything. He
expressed little sympathy and a final declaration from her mom calling my dad
“insane” broke everything off. Things were never the same again.

My mom can’t have a proper sleep. Neither can I.

Then I feel how difficult it is not having a brother, a male family member who can
possibly resist all this pain we are enduring and provide a small, but mighty, comfort
that would ease our grief. Dad has no idea whether he has a son or not. I noticed his
situation worsened when, one day, he couldn’t recognise me at all. Despite me
calling him “dad” several times, he didn’t believe me and looked at my mom for
confirmation. When she nodded, he probably got convinced. But his look was
possessed by a strange attitude…

One day he wanted to go outside. “I will go for a little stroll,” he said. He didn’t want
us to accompany him, so he left alone, without knowing that I secretly followed and
watched him during the whole walk. He aimlessly wandered around the park awhile,
then made his way back. However, it took him quite a long time to find the right way,
walking through different streets and running into in dead-ends. In the end, I
approached him, held his hand, we returned home.

A long time has passed. He now lives in a special treatment facility. It has become a

habit for me to see him every day after work. For more than a year now, he has no
idea who I am, as he lost his ability to recognise me. Yet he is still flexible with
people and can talk with anyone, usually about one topic. “Today my wife came to
see me. You don’t know her, she is such a caring woman,” he slightly smiles and
continues, “She brought my favourite raisin cake, we ate it together with tea. She