My father passed away at the end of this past June. He was 89, and 2 ½ years into a dementia diagnosis. Yet it was the aspiration pneumonia the dementia brought on that took his life. In many ways, I have felt it a blessing.
Quality of Life
My dad’s quality of life had been poor for the last decade of his life. He suffered from severe chronic arthritic back pain that prevented him from being able to stand upright. His back posture eventually morphed into a 90-degree angle, which drastically lessened his ability to get around easily or safely.
At the same time, he was experiencing a severe loss of central vision because of macular degeneration. Over time he could no longer drive, read a newspaper, or look at photos we wanted to share with him from our phones. The last few years I would read his Father’s Day and birthday card greetings to him.
Cognitive Decline
In the first year of his dementia diagnosis, it was rare that I noticed any cognitive decline. He was aware that he had the disease and would acknowledge it when he was unable to finish a thought. As time went on, I started noticing him struggling to remember a word to describe something and confusing names of people and their relationships with himself or others.
It became clear that my dad’s dementia was advancing when he began to have audio illusions. He would speak about how the neighbor’s loud music in the middle of the night kept him up. Or he would call you into the back bedroom in the middle of the day, asking if you could hear the music that was not playing.
Our Relationship
There’s no doubt in my mind that my father loved me. My mother would occasionally tell the story of how my father cried when he learned that he had been given a daughter after he already had a son. Even though I always felt that we shared a unique bond, I can’t say that we were particularly close. My dad, who immigrated to the United States from his homeland of Malta at age of 18 was never shown a blueprint on how to get emotionally close to anyone.
There are two instances that stand out where my dad and I shared some real closeness. The first was when I was in my late 20’s after I had told my parents that my husband of five years and I would be divorcing. My dad and I took a walk down the block to the grassy field of the elementary school that I had attended as a child. He assured me that he understood and supported me in that decision. Divorce had not been prevalent in my family, so that was huge to me.
The second instance came when I was in my mid-40’s after I shared with my parents that I had decided to let go of a good job that no longer fed my soul. I wanted to see what I could do on my own with spiritual and inspirational teaching. I expected pushback from my father, who spent his career as a longshoreman to support our family. Instead, what he said to me was, “If it doesn’t work out, you can always get another job”.
How I Have Changed
I am now one of the population of people who have lost a parent. I’d always dreaded the thought of losing one of my parents and wondered what that would be like. I know that it’s much too early for me to speak about how I have changed.
One thing I have noticed, though, is a desire to fully bring forth the ways of being that I inherited from my dad. As my mother has said many times, I’m my father’s daughter.
In the meantime, I’m just getting used to the idea that I will never see my father again.
