The sound of relief, exhaustion, and nasal congestion in my mother's voice tipped me off that his time had come.
Alzheimer's Disease stole papa's dignity from him in his last years. It stole his memory, his independence, and it stole a peaceful death. No technology and pharmaceutical advancement to date was able to stop the inevitable progression.
Papa raised four strong, independent women. He was adored by all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He was a painter and a photographer. He danced anytime he heard music. He ate ice cream, had a mean Donald Duck impression, and dedicated part of his life to the Navy. Although there is so much more to papa than that, I regret to admit that this is all I know of him. I was barely old enough to comprehend before the disease had reduced our relationship to few-hour visits at a nursing home facility.
When we release his ashes into the ocean next weekend, I will have to refrain from being jealous of the water for having the chance to be much more intimate with papa than I ever had the chance to.
My heart is broken for my grandmother, my mom, and my aunts. Moreover, my heart is broken for the other 5.3 million Americans who have AD, and their families.
I took this photo outside my grandparents' house in Dana Point, and it hung in his room. It reminds me of Papa because he was always taking beautiful pictures of flowers.
2 comments:
You and your family, especially your grandmother, have my deepest sympathies. As his ashes are committed to the sea I sense all present will feel “papa’s” old self finally being released, and his survivors will shed their tears through smiles of gratefulness, knowing that this fine man is finally at peace. It is significant that you, Tracy, have chosen a branch of medicine as your vocation. There will many times in your future that you will ease the mental anguish of others. Bless you.
T, I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather. I hope your father's day will be a day of peace even amidst hard circumstances.
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