It was only after my children were born that I truly understood the immense burden my mother had shouldered. The challenges of diapers, tantrums, and mealtime struggles reminded me not of my own childhood with my brother, but of the unexpected role she played in caring for my father, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. My grandmother often remarked, “She keeps him connected to life,” highlighting my mom’s unwavering dedication as his primary caregiver.
My father passed away at 66 after more than a decade grappling with early-onset Alzheimer’s. “Grappling” might not even capture it; there’s no victory to be had in such a fight, no chance to reclaim what was lost. Yet, he experienced a relatively better quality of life compared to many others in similar situations.
Throughout the years, my mother always included my father in her activities. During Zumba classes, he would dance in the back, lost in his own rhythm. If he got too close to anyone, she would gently guide him back. On the tennis court, fellow players took turns keeping him company while my mom participated. Occasionally, he would leave with a ball in his pocket or someone’s keys, but no one ever complained.
Swimming was one of his favorite pastimes, even as he struggled to coordinate his arms and legs. Eventually, he refused to change into a swimsuit, and my mom learned to let go of that battle, allowing him to enter the pool fully clothed. Getting him in and out of wet clothes, the car, or even the shower became increasingly challenging. Initially, she didn’t share these struggles with me, but the reality became clear when I noticed the adult diapers and pee pads. I tried to visit bi-monthly, but during my last months of pregnancy, travel became impossible due to the Zika virus. On my final visit, I was taken aback by the lingering odor that permeated their home.
His breakfast routine consisted mainly of cereal, which he could eat independently as long as my mom placed the spoon in his hand and directed him to the bowl. He had a particular fondness for sweets, and after a doctor’s visit revealed elevated cholesterol levels, my mom hesitated to offer him treats. However, the doctor quickly reversed that decision, insisting that enjoying food was his last joy in life—health stats aside, it was what truly mattered.
As a parent, there are expected responsibilities: changing diapers, dressing, feeding, and nurturing social skills. Yet, as a spouse, my mother had to change my father’s diapers, help him dress, feed him, and facilitate social interactions—all while managing her own mental well-being. As a daughter, witnessing my mom perform these tasks for my father, especially during moments of agitation when he would lash out, was heart-wrenching.
In the three and a half years since my father’s passing, the trauma of those experiences still lingers. We continually process our memories and actions taken to ensure he had the best quality of life possible. Reflecting on this, I recognize how my father’s Alzheimer’s journey and my mother’s dedication have influenced my approach to motherhood with my two sons.
During my last visit, my father slept much of the time, and I often wondered if he recognized me. Yet, the day after I returned home, I received a message from my mother: “He said, ‘my family was here, beautiful.’” I relish those moments with my boys, treating them as if they always know I’m there. I envision them as blank pages, and by reading, singing, and talking to them, I’m filling those pages with love.
I recall my wedding day, two years before my father’s death. I like to believe he sensed the joy of the occasion, even if he didn’t fully understand it. As we walked down the aisle, he became agitated and refused to sit. We managed to calm him, but I regretted not preparing him for the event better. Now, I make it a point to prepare my sons for new experiences, explaining what to expect to help ease transitions.
Dining out with my father posed its own challenges. My mother would often ask him what he wanted to eat, wanting to give him the chance to make a choice. This was a lesson I took to heart; I encourage my toddler to make decisions at mealtime, which fosters trust and smooths the dining experience.
In the early stages of his symptoms, my father was aware of his condition, making it difficult to reason with a man in his fifties. However, my mother found ways to keep him feeling in control while ensuring his safety. They lived in a secure community, and although he could no longer drive, my mom allowed him to walk around the area by himself. I adopt a similar approach with my toddler, finding ways to say “yes” to low-risk activities, which allows him to feel empowered.
When my father experienced moments of agitation, my mother employed two techniques that I now use with my boys. The first involved redirecting his attention from whatever was bothering him. For instance, if he was causing chaos in the living room, she would guide him outside. I’ve learned to use distraction methods with my sons, suggesting new toys or activities to diffuse potential meltdowns.
The second technique was music. I created playlists of songs that my father loved, which would often bring him joy and calmness. With my toddler, I keep music handy to facilitate transitions and engage him during moments of change.
It’s a bittersweet realization that I’m raising my children using the same skills my mother employed to enhance my father’s quality of life, even in those final months. Yet, I strive to instill in them the kindness and values he embodied before Alzheimer’s took hold. I believe he would be proud of my journey as a mother.
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Summary
This reflection explores how the author’s experiences with her father’s Alzheimer’s and her mother’s caregiving have shaped her parenting style. Through personal anecdotes, she illustrates the lessons learned, emphasizing the importance of connection, preparation, and emotional support in nurturing her children. The journey is bittersweet, recognizing the influence of her father’s legacy while navigating the challenges of motherhood.