April 19, 2007

Aging Connection

Alzheimer’s Disease (Part 3): A personal journey

By Vivian I. Silva
Special to the Times

Goodbyes have never been easy for me. My earliest childhood memory happens to be waving goodbye to my father, so handsomely dressed in his navy uniform. My mother, 2-year-old sister and I cried as we approached Highway 101.

Ready to fight in the Korean War, he hitchhiked to San Diego. Strong, eager and proud, he left prepared for battle. Transitioning Dad from the hospital to the skilled nursing facility is another battle we’ll never forget. A frail yet still volatile patient, we dreaded this last fight, and fight we knew he would.

‘Jiggs’ lived his life as a fighter. As a teenager he staged fights with friends at Santa Clara University to earn money. Dad forged his father’s signature at age 17 to enlist in World War II and later re-enlisted to fight in the Korean War.

A professional boxer, he won most of his matches and as a reserve policeman for almost 20 years, he often was in the middle of a fight. The staff at the facility treated him with kid gloves. Patient and kind, the nurses and staff respected his dignity even though he tried to hit them, and sometimes called out derogatory names.

Some days he would be singing and on others he thought the KGB was infiltrating the care home. At times he recognized us, at times he didn’t. Sometimes he would yell at us and at other times we experienced sweet moments. One day he softly said, ‘Hey, thanks’ as I left and I knew he meant it.

He made his wishes known. He did not want to live like this nor have us see him so helpless. The Alzheimer’s disease changed his appetite. He stopped eating and we continued to witness his physical decline. In a matter of weeks he’d lost about 40 pounds.

Hospice provided comfort care for Dad and guidance for the dying process. Any question we had, they were available to answer. They reminded us emotions may come in waves and there might be conflicting feelings.
Sometimes I’d feel relief that he wouldn’t live much longer because my heart broke each time I walked in his room. The absent look in his eyes and his frail body made me cringe. Then I’d feel a wave of guilt. I hated to see him suffer.

Other times I expected to walk in and see him sitting up with that famous twinkle in his eye and playful spirit. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. When I worked, I felt guilty being away from him; yet, experience taught me the importance of self-care to avoid illness in times of grief.

Soon, he no longer spoke and could no longer swallow. The yelling ceased. The rhythm of his breathing changed and arms stayed at his side. He weighed only about 100 pounds.

Time with my silver-haired daddy became more precious and focused; his room became a sacred space. I spoke to him as if he understood everything I said. “Don’t be afraid,” I gently whispered in his ear. I told him that I loved him, forgave him for his ‘my way or the highway’ attitude and that we’d miss him. “It’s OK to go, Dad, we’ll be OK,” I said.

In the last days the family formed a circle around his bed. We took turns putting lotion on his feet and hands. My mother started a prayer, and we took her lead. I taught my family a healing touch ritual for transitions and we all participated. We took turns spending the night at his bedside.

He died early one morning after my youngest sister had fallen asleep at his bedside. Although I was exhausted and feeling sad, I did experience some relief he was finally free from suffering from Alzheimer’s. I also felt relieved I didn’t have to worry about my mother’s health declining because she was his primary caregiver. For these thoughts, I experienced another wave of guilt.

His final goodbye turned out more appropriate than I ever would have expected. I knew his boxing photo should be displayed. This is how he wanted to be remembered—as a fighter. And, remembered he was!

After the funeral one of the limousine drivers asked my youngest son, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like your grandpa when he was young? I saw the poster of the boxing match from the San Jose Civic Auditorium and I was there, up in the balcony. Your grandfather fought like a cat in a cage.”

After my son told me, I went up to the driver and asked how he could possibly recognize my father from that poster of almost 60 years ago. He said, “Dear, when you are 10 years old and your father or uncle takes you to your first boxing match, you remember everything.”

Such a fitting tribute: to have a stranger acknowledge and honor ‘Jiggs’ as a fighter. Alzheimer’s robbed him of his strong body and sharp wit but certainly challenged him to continue the fight of his life.

I want to thank the readers for your questions and comments and it’s now time for me to say goodbye. This article is not only the last of a series but the end of my column, Aging Connection. The AVCS Geriatric Advisory Program was closed down in March.

The Almaden Valley Counseling Service will forward any inquires regarding aging issues directly to Vivian I. Silva via e-mail at vivsilva@aol.com or by calling (408) 209-1247.