He was ALWAYS quiet. A long conversation with Pepaw was three minutes. The longest conversation I ever had with my father-in-law was nearly two decades ago when I tried to soothe things over when he disapproved of his youngest daughter's boyfriend.
That talk lasted MAYBE seven minutes. While we stood in his garage, it was the first time he had spoken about what he was FEELING. And I don't remember another "feeling" conversation before or after, even when my mom-in-law, Meemaw, died in 2000. He didn't even say much when he drove me to the airport the last time I visited them in Florida before she passed away. I had been crying all morning, knowing I'd never see her again, and I tried so hard to dry my tears. When he dropped me off and I told him I loved him, he smiled, hugged me and said, "It'll be all right, darling."
After my mom-in-law passed away, I tried for a couple of months to call him at least once a week, but it was a struggle to get more than five or six words out of him. There was always a lot of "dead air," and we all know how uncomfortable that can be. I kept reminding my husband Roger to call his dad to keep the communication going because I've learned that guys can "BS" their way through a conversation without saying much of anything … (And I say that with great love and admiration.)
So, I have to admit that I didn't see Pepaw much this past decade except for the trips I made down there to visit everyone in Roger's family. I couldn't stay overnight at his home because his smoking gave me even bigger migraines than when he and Meemaw used to smoke constantly. We still didn't say much, but on the way to a flea market one day, he told me, when I asked, how his breakfast as a child was a biscuit because his family was so poor …
For five weeks now, since he came to Peoria for us to care for him, I've been studying this man, my husband's father, my son's grandfather, Pepaw. Suddenly, I was responsible for much of his personal and financial care as we begin this journey through Alzheimer's together … and I really knew nothing about him.
I've interviewed probably thousands of people in my career as a journalist and author. But Pepaw … I didn't even know what questions to ask, so I had to observe his behavior and actions and listen when HE decided to speak. He lived in our home for about 10 days before we found a comfortable senior residence to give him his own place and get him around people after he had lived alone for a decade.
I discovered a man who didn't ask for ANYTHING. He thanked us for EVERYTHING, including the scrambled eggs and bacon Roger or I fixed him nearly every morning he was here, as he dutifully ate every bite in silence while reading the newspaper. I knew he wouldn't be talkative because he had eaten alone for years. I got past my distaste for the smell of coffee and made him a fresh cup or two every day. Add a sweet roll and he was in heaven as he softly said, "Thanks, darling."
Though he had packed two bags of his clothing, he said nothing when I didn't even open the smokey suitcases and left them in the garage to air out. He said, "Thanks, darling," as he accepted all new underwear, socks, T-shirts and jeans. We pried away a weathered jacket and let him wear my hooded sweatshirts. He wore those for the first four weeks because he wasn't used to the cold weather here … at least compared to Florida. And that's how he slept … in his clothes, and a hooded sweatshirt pulled up over his cap … not stirring all night long when I frequently checked on him.
I knew he was comfortable, and he didn't have to say a thing to teach me volumes about him.
Just by opening my eyes and heart, I learned that all he needed was someone to take care of him every day … without him ever having to ask or perhaps even fully comprehending — because of the Alzheimer's — that he needed assistance. I explained to two of my sisters-in-law that they shouldn't feel guilty about not recognizing his decline sooner, because Pepaw was always a man of few words and the guy who slept in his clothing for a couple of days. They would have had to spend 24/7 with him as Roger and I did for a couple of weeks to realize something was "not right" and exactly what was "wrong."
And that's how the evil of Alzheimer's infiltrates our lives … It steals our loved ones a tiny piece at a time, like pieces of puzzle that fall off the table and are devoured by dust bunnies and never seen again. We don't really see the missing parts until the whole picture comes clearer into focus …
Pardon me while I wipe my eyes … so I can better see what Pepaw needs today. A cup of coffee? A hug? Coming right up!
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