Pepaw's Christmas wish - part 2

Continued from previous post about Pepaw's Christmas wish …

The day after Pepaw's doctor visit and proclamation that he only wanted a tree with lights as a Christmas gift, I found my dad-in-law a perfect little tree and purchased pint-sized ornaments to go with it. I also found a battery-operated string of lights, which was the safest for him. I shared these with my husband, Roger, and he agreed they would do the job.

So I eagerly looked forward to seeing Pepaw's face when we would deliver that little tree. Our schedules and the weather worked out to make the drive three days before Christmas. On our way, we stopped at a place that had advertised DVD seasons of “Walker, Texas Ranger,” but they were sold out. We settled for the first season of “Gunsmoke” to entertain him. The Alzheimer's residence staff said he watched the first season of Walker constantly when he wasn't “riding the rails.” We needed something that would force him to sit for a while.

Why? Because it seemed like he was literally walking himself to death. No wonder we couldn't keep weight on him as we struggled to keep him above 125 pounds. He had always been skinny, but this was too much so. Plus he refused to participate in any activities with other residents though the staff had tried its best to involve him. It wasn't that he was being anti-social, because he was so doggone polite and kind when you talked to him, but he never was a social butterfly. It was just, well, Pepaw continuing to control his own destiny as best as he could, as he always had.

Pepaw, like many individuals with Alzheimer's, was consumed with moving all the time. He could be found walking the hallways non-stop and compulsively touching all the handrails along the way; hence the term, “riding the rails.” Whenever I visited, I knew I'd have to wander the hallways in search of him. When I found him, sometimes we'd just keep walking. I did whatever he wanted to do because I knew I could only engage him on his terms.

I had to learn to accept this obsessive behavior because it was HIS way of coping with what was happening to him. He didn't understand that his brain didn't work “right” anymore, but he became consumed by time. Time. Every minute. Every hour. He had to “kill” time from the time he got up in the morning until he went to bed at night. This had been his pattern since July, now only more intensified.

I remembered the endless calls he made to me when he was at the assisted living facility. I recalled one message I had sent one of my sisters-in-law in early August, a week before we had moved him to this secure facility:

So far your dad has tried calling 6 times this morning, and I was able to answer two of them. First at 7 or so asking “please come help me kill time.” I said I'd be there this afternoon but he kept insisting. I said I'd see him later, nothing I could do about it. Then he called about 8:15 asking the same thing, telling me how “terrible things were happening.” I asked him to be specific, knowing he wouldn't be, but hey, had to at least try. And the day is still young …

During several of my visits to this Alzheimer's facility where he had resided since mid-August, he described how long it had taken him to walk one walkway and how much time would pass on the big clock in the lobby. One time he even got up to demonstrate. So I just sat in his chair and awaited his return, watching him kill time, even when it broke my heart and tear ducts. However, he was safe here. At least I could sleep at night, not worrying if he was out wandering or in danger of getting hit by a car or being taken advantage of by a stranger …

With “Gunsmoke” and a new flannel shirt in one bag and the miniature tree and accessories in another, Roger and I arrived to celebrate Christmas with Pepaw that Wednesday evening before the official holiday. The staff welcomed us as always, and I said we knew where to look for him. They smiled. They all knew his routine, too. I felt like a little kid on Christmas morning as we turned the first corner and ran into him as his hand followed the rails.

“Hi there!” I smiled and held up one of the bags. He looked at me and said hi. He looked at Roger for several seconds. I wondered if this would be the time that father would not recognize son. I was prepared, but I wasn't sure if Roger was. He still knew me as Monica and that I hung around with Roger, but he had forgotten that I was his daughter-in-law. What will be will be …

Good, Pepaw knew his oldest child.

“You gonna get me out of here?” he asked. That was what he still needed his son for.

I immediately changed the subject, much to Roger's relief.

“We've got your Christmas here! You wanted a tree.” I kept my smile ablaze.

“Huh?”

“You wanted a Christmas tree.”

“A Christmas tree,” Roger repeated. “Can we put it in your room? We’ve got lights for it, too.”

He looked confused as we directed him back down the hallway.

“How am I going to get back out of here? I need to get out of here and over to the other place.” We didn’t ask where this was, but we reassured him we’d walk with him again …

To be continued.