It was only after my own children were born that I truly grasped the weight of responsibility my mother bore. The diapers, the tantrums, the challenging meal times were not just memories from my childhood; they were echoes of her care for a child she never expected to have—my father. My grandmother often remarked, “She keeps him connected to life,” referring to my mother’s tireless role as my father’s primary caregiver.
My dad passed away at 66, having fought against early-onset Alzheimer’s for over a decade. Yet I hesitate to use the term “battle” because, in reality, there is no victory to be found; it’s a relentless journey. Still, in his later years, he enjoyed a quality of life that was perhaps better than many others facing this disease.
Throughout my father’s illness, my mom included him in her life. During Zumba classes, he would sway to the rhythm, often too close to others, prompting her to gently guide him back. On tennis days, fellow players took turns keeping him company on the sidelines, although he sometimes left with a ball or someone’s keys. Such moments were never met with judgment.
He loved to swim, although in his final years, he struggled to coordinate his movements. Eventually, my mom stopped insisting he change into a swimsuit, allowing him to enter the pool fully clothed. Getting him out of his wet clothes was a challenge, as was transporting him to and from the car, getting him to shower, and managing bathroom needs. Initially, she kept this reality from me, but I was confronted with it when I discovered adult diapers and pee pads. I attempted to visit every couple of months, but when I became pregnant and the Zika virus posed risks, my trips to Florida dwindled. On my last visit, I was struck by the overwhelming odor permeating their home.
Breakfast usually consisted of cereal, which he could eat independently as long as my mom placed the spoon in his hand and pointed to the bowl. He had quite the sweet tooth, and my mom indulged him with donuts and cookies after meals. However, a doctor’s visit revealed weight gain and high cholesterol, prompting her to limit his treats. But the doctor quickly prescribed sweets again, citing that eating brought him joy. His health metrics didn’t matter as much as his happiness.
As a parent, there are expected tasks: changing diapers, dressing kids, feeding them, and helping them socialize. As a spouse, however, you never anticipate having to change your partner’s diaper or feed him while ensuring your own mental well-being. And as a daughter, witnessing my mom care for my father while he lashed out in frustration was unimaginable.
In the years since my father’s passing, the memories remain vivid and traumatic, and we continue to process the events that unfolded. Reflecting on my father’s Alzheimer’s and my mother’s unwavering dedication to his care has shaped my approach to parenting my own sons, aged three years and seven months.
During my last visit, my dad spent most of his time asleep. When awake, I couldn’t tell if he recognized me. Yet, my mom later texted to say he had mentioned, “my family was here, beautiful.” That moment reminded me that there is always something within, and I’ve treated my boys as if they know me from the very start. They are like a blank canvas, and as I read, sing, and talk to them, I fill in every page.
I recall my wedding day, just two years before my father passed. I like to think he sensed the joy of the occasion, even if he didn’t fully comprehend it. As we walked down the aisle, he resisted sitting and became agitated. After calming him, he finally settled down. I wished we had prepared him better for the event—perhaps it would have eased his discomfort. Now, I always prepare my boys for transitions, explaining what to expect in advance.
Dining out with my father was often a challenge. My mom would ask for his preferences, even though ordering for him would have been simpler. If he chose a hamburger, she would help him grasp it, though sometimes it took time if his fists were clenched. Salmon was easier; she cut it into pieces and placed the fork in his hand. This process taught me the value of involving my toddler in decision-making, which fosters trust and smoother mealtimes.
In the early stages of his symptoms, my father was aware of his declining health, which complicated rational discussions. My mom made sure he felt a sense of control while ensuring his safety, allowing him to walk around their gated community despite losing the ability to drive. I can’t say “no” to my toddler every time he wants to explore, but by allowing him to engage in low-risk activities, he feels empowered while remaining safe.
When my father became agitated, my mom employed two effective techniques that I now apply with my boys. The first was distraction; when he was upset, she would redirect him to a safe space, like the back porch. I do the same for my son when I sense a meltdown brewing, diverting his attention to a new toy or suggesting a video call with grandma.
The second technique was music. I would create playlists of his favorite tunes, which would instantly uplift his mood. Similarly, I have music from my toddler’s classes ready to help transition him to new activities.
It’s heartbreaking to realize that I’m parenting using the same strategies that helped my mom care for my dad during those challenging months. Yet, I strive to instill the values he held dear, such as kindness and respect for others. I know he would be proud of the mother I’m becoming.
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Summary
My father’s battle with Alzheimer’s profoundly influenced my role as a mother. Witnessing my mother’s dedication to his care has shaped how I approach parenting, focusing on preparation, decision-making, and distraction techniques. Despite the challenges, I strive to instill the values my father upheld, ensuring my children grow up with kindness and compassion.