Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Talking To Dementia Part 2

A different day, a different Dad. Almost every day a different Dad.

We went to have terere (cold tea) with him. We took him out of his room to give him a change of scenery. We all sat in a circle. 
Dad seemed incomprehensive that day, but I still went, took his hand, made eye contact and introduced myself. 
He didn't seem to care except for a faint "Hello".

However, as soon as his wife showed up, his eyes lit up. I got up to let her sit beside him. She grabbed his hand, he turned to her, and it seemed as though everything was right with the world again. 
At least for that moment. 
It didn't last long at all, and he wondered off in his world again, the world of dementia, the world we can't enter because it exists only in his mind. 
We became strangers yet again and again his words made no sense. At least not to us.
It wasn't spoken of at the time, but some eyes were fighting back tears. Eyes who had seen so different from what they had hoped.

But hope itself was not gone. We refuse to let that go. 

We hold on. 
We keep on keeping on, for that one moment, even a glimpse of a moment, when I will see in my Father's eyes the reassurance that - 
yes, he knows who I am and he knows I am here.