I held his hands and told him what an awesome dad he was.  I thought he moved his fingers a bit.  I watched as his breath grew shallower and slower.  I yelled for my siblings to come to the room.  We watched him take his final breath and said our goodbyes.  Just moments before I thought I could sense my mom but maybe it was my imagination.  He wasn’t in pain or discomfort.  We made sure the there were enough meds.  He had his last rites just hours before.  Our house is just a modest home but to him, it was his castle.  He loved it and died there.

Goodbye dad, I love you.  We’ll miss you.  Give mom a hug from all of us.  I’m happy that you’re with her now and free of the pain and suffering from your illness.

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything.  It’s partly because I don’t really have anything good to write about.

These past few years, the long, dark days of winter have dampened my mood.  I’ve also gotten way out of shape.  When I’m stressed, I tend to eat more.  When I’m at my dad’s place, I snack like crazy.  It doesn’t help that my sister leaves a lot of junk food around.  Dinners there are usually take out food.  No one really has time to cook.  I downloaded a fitness app only to find out how far out of shape I’m in.  I don’t sleep enough.  I know I’ll pay dearly for this.

My dad’s health is declining rapidly.  We used to celebrate minor victories.  He ate well.  He slept well.  He had a bowel movement.  There wasn’t any pain.  It’s hard to find those minor victories now.  I stayed over the other night.  I told my sister to go to bed and she did around 1 AM.  My dad called out frequently when he is asleep – not deep sleep.  I had to keep checking to see if he was really calling out or just talking in his sleep.  He did wake up a couple of times and I gave him some water.  I would hold his hands to give him some assurance and told him to rest and go back to sleep.  I think the hardest part is watching him grimacing in pain when he is being changed.  I finally got to nap for an hour around 4.  My sister woke up a few times to check.  She eventually got up around 5.  It’s like this for her every night.  I left the house just as the rush hour started.  When I got home, I fueled myself with caffeine to get me through the day.   My brother came over later that day with food.

Is this heroic? No.  I’m just doing my bit to help.  I have no idea how previous generations handled all of this.  How do the people living around the poverty line manage with elder care and dementia?

Writing is one of the few things that keep me sane.  I wish I had more time for this.

Dementia has got to be one of the most cruel diseases around.  It’s reduced my dad from a very intelligent & articulate man to one that lashes out (verbally and physically), cries and hard to manage.  It escalates at night turning bedtime into a nightmarish situation.  I don’t understand his mind.  He seems fine during the day and during the night – this other person comes out.   My sister bears the brunt of this.  I’m able to go home and wallow in guilt.

There’s some odd things happening in my condo.  A couple of weeks ago, in the wee hours of the night, I heard creaking sounds.  I tell myself it’s the temperature change that’s causing the hardwood floors to creak.  But this time it sounded as if there was someone walking inside my unit.  I got out of bed and looked around my unit.  There wasn’t anyone of course.  But a couple of my kitchen cupboards doors were opened.  Hmm…. I have left them opened before but I had no idea if I left them opened that night.  Needless to say, I left the lights on when I went back to bed.

A few nights ago, I was washing dishes when I heard a loud noise behind me.  A box of plastic food containers fell and spilled open.  This box has been sitting on top of a case of water for months.  The only way it could have fallen if someone walked by it and caught the edge of the box with their foot.   I’m sure there is a logical explanation but I haven’t figured it out yet.

Strange…

Update on my dad:  He’s not doing that well.  He got a bit violent, pushing the personal support worker, swearing and throwing things. I had to keep calm when I talked to him.  The doctor at the hospital told us that when the dementia gets worse, some of the patient’s fears and behaviours gets exaggerated.  If the patient was a cautious and suspicious type of person, that behaviour might become dominant.  In my dad’s case, he is a solitary figure.  He just kept telling us “leave me the f*ck alone!”.   I know something is bothering him but I couldn’t get it out from him or he wasn’t able to express it which made him even more frustrated.  The home care is still best for him now despite all the challenges.

My dad was a typical Asian father.  He was in charge although we knew mom was the bedrock of the family.  Dad sacrificed a lot and made sure we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs and an education.  When I started to work and gave money back to my parents, it was always to mom.  I pretty well used mom as a buffer.  It wasn’t that I was scared of dad.  It was just the way it was. 

Mom was always the one who would speak to dad.  She understood my father, his way of thinking and knew how to talk to him.  No matter how tired they were, they always made time every night to sit together and chat quietly.  Because dad was older, I always thought he would pass away first.  But that wasn’t the case.  Mom had a lot of illnesses and contracted a vicious form of cancer.  She passed away a few months after.  Dad was shaken to the core.  I didn’t know what to do with him and I never knew how to really talk to him.  But since mom’s passing, our relationship slowly grew.  He can be stubborn and annoying.  But I gradually enjoyed my weekly dinners with him.  He became my “date”.  We went to bookstores.  He would pass by the “Romantic Novels” section and proclaimed loudly that it was “garbage”.  We got a few glares from those faithful readers.  I helped him with his banking.  He never stopped giving me advice. 

When he started to get more and more confused, I started to get worried.  My instincts were to simply gradually bring him back to reality gently rather than act shock or confused.  He got me my first jock strap when I started high school.  I was too embarrassed to buy one myself for gym.  I got him his first adult diaper.  He told me he was too embarrassed about the problem and didn’t know what to do.

Every day at the hospital, I would make sure I hold dad’s hand or stroke it gently.  I joke with him.  He told me he was scared and that he prayed very hard.  He wasn’t sure if his prayers were answered.  He thought his prayers weren’t eloquent.  I told him prayers are prayers and they will be heard.  I keep telling him that we will be here and won’t abandon him. I never knew he prayed.  I never seen him this scared before.  

I don’t know what each day will bring.  Right now he just wants to go home.  So that’s what we’ll work towards.  Maybe the doctors will let him go home.

Mom was indeed the bedrock of the family.  She gave me one last gift when she passed away.  It was an opportunity to know my father a bit better and to see him in a different light. 
Thanks mom. 

My dad is still in the hospital.  He is out of imminent danger thanks to a transfusion and a lot of medication.  But this experience is taking a toll on him physically and mentally. He gets confused very easily in this different environment.  He still can’t walk yet and it’ll be awhile before he can even go home.  The memory losses he goes through scares me.  He also gets depressed at the physical state he is in and being so helpless.  He depends on everyone for his well being.  If he needs to be changed, he has to wait until a nurse or attendant is available.  They moved him yesterday to another wing.  There are more people here that are “confused” and bed ridden.  It is a depressing place and I pull the curtains around dad’s bed so he doesn’t see everyone in his ward.

When I go home after spending a day at the hospital, I shower immediately. While the hot, soapy water washes away any germs, it doesn’t wash away my guilt, insecurity and fear.  At the hospital, I am the patient and filial son.  We hold his hands and assure him when he cries.  He has these huge fears of abandonment.  He worries incessantly about the financial burden and the toll it has taken on us.  We tell him we will still be there.  We also tell him that we’re trying to get personal care attendants too.  But I’m also the angry son who snaps back at my dad when he doesn’t eat.  I have become cold and emotionless.  It’s what I have to do to survive another day. 

I’ll soon leave for the hospital for my shift.  My siblings and I still provide round the clock coverage.  I caught myself thinking that I’ll get some sleep when this is over.  But that triggered another wave of guilt and sadness. 

It is hard to keep an elderly man hopeful and optimistic in a hospital.  My brother and sister continue our “shifts” so that there’s always someone with dad and to answer any medical questions.  He finally sat up in a chair one day and shuffled 5 steps yesterday. It exhausted him completely.  He can’t stand the hospital food so we have to always bring in food.  There’s so much that can go wrong with a body when it is bedridden.  We cut his food up, feed him and wonder what will happen next.  The staff here are patient when they change him.  We sometimes help when they are short staffed as it needs two people. 

I’m starting to see the flow of routine in the hospital. I know which nurses are better and which attendants are more patient.  I can sense worry and tension with other visitors.  When someone is scared and frustrated, they mask it with angry and sharp words.  You have to see through that.  As much as I’m fascinated with the rhythm and the inner goings of a hospital, I have no desire to stay here longer than necessary.  I have no idea when dad will be released. 

When I picked up some take out food for dad late last night, the restaurant had about 5 tables.  1 large table filled with kids and adults all happy and celebrating loudly.  Another table of 4 had a very quiet birthday dinner.  The singing of Happy Birthday sounded like a whisper.  Another small table with twenty somethings eating quietly but animatedly.  Conversations flowed back and forth.  No one had a smartphone out.  4 young people then walked in, all in black. No one was smiling, they just wanted to quiet their hunger.  They were all twenty somethings and maybe it was their first time dealing with death. 

The manager called me and gave me my food along with best wishes for my dad.  I walked out into the night with a mixture questions, worries, fears and hope.

I took my dad to the cemetery.  It’s been three years now and he has a very
difficult time there.  I left him alone
briefly while I got some water for the flowers. 
He looked intensely at the columbarium. 
After I placed the flowers down, he started to talk about the old days –
back in Manila
when he was just a child.  He sat down on
the cold metal bench and talked about his grandfather who really was the force
behind the family.  He recalled talked
about skipping a grade and then another one when he was about 8 to 9 yrs
old.  He talked about the many relatives
that came over to the Philippines
who were from the same village as his grandfather.  They came to find work and opportunity. 

His grandfather helped set them up with jobs.  Some were able to learn English, trades,
business skills while others who had no aptitude for learning and hard work
simply languished.   One year, his dad somehow
managed to enroll him into an American school. 
His grandfather chafed at the decision. 
He worried that my dad will be useless because he won’t learn Chinese.  The metal bench wasn’t that comfortable and
every time I shifted position, he thought I wanted to leave.  But I said no – I had time.  He continued chatting for awhile about
relatives whose names I barely remember. 
He would grimace when I gave him a blank look at those names.  Eventually he stood up and said we should get
going.  He took one last look at my mom’s
resting spot and got into my car. 

We went to dimsum for lunch. 
As we sat down, he hailed one of the long time servers and asked for Doa
Foo Fa (soy bean custard).  The server
was surprised and jokingly asked why he wanted dessert so soon when he hadn’t
even eaten the dim sum yet.  I just
shrugged.  I guess he’s entitled to eat
whatever he wants and whenever he wants. 
He nodded in approval as he ate the custard.  It had a sweet ginger syrup on it.  I selected the rest of the dimsum from the
carts when they rolled past our table. 
He was soon stuffed.  Satisfied –
I paid the bill after the manager came by and waived the “tea charge”.  I drove him home, saw him into the house and
left.  As I drove away, I looked at the
door and he was standing there waving goodbye as he always does. 

Later that evening, my sister called me and told me my dad
was despondent and withdrawn.  I called
him the next day and he told me he was fine – just had a rough evening.  I can’t believe how fast he has aged in the
last year.  The “age spots” are all over
him.  One of his fingers is crooked.  He used a cane for the first time after his
back started to ache.  The strong,
commanding voice now sounds nervous and hesitant.  He’s also lost weight.  He was a voracious reader and now complains
that he can only read 50 pages a day. 

Some of you commend me on being a good son.  But I struggle at this.  You only read things from my perspective with
all my biases.  I know I should spend
more time with him.