Alzheimers or Cursing the Darkness

As the routine goes, when I’m heading out to The Valley on business, I stop in and visit one of the parents. By whatever random criteria I use, I’d determined it was time to visit Dad and Ethel. This particular visit came one day after a pipe had blown in their kitchen, destroying the flooring throughout the entire house.

Ethel and dad are now eighty years old. And Ethel had done most of the clean-up on the house; primarily because my dad has bad knees and bad balance, and when he does walk, he uses a walker.

Even though I was stopping by late in the day, they (meaning Ethel) had determined that we would go out “to get a bite to eat.” Somewhere along the way, Ethel had told me that my dad was being belligerent. As of late he went on rants refusing to take his pills. Now, the insurance people had told them that they’d have to move out for a couple of days so that work could be done on the house. My dad was refusing to allow them to move him out of his bedroom. In his mind, it had reached equality with the battle for the Alamo.

So, out to Chili’s we go. As the service was terrible, it gave us plenty of time to sit and talk. I was having the usual conversation with my dad, which went something like this, “Dad, you really need to cooperate with Ethel. She’s having a hard enough time dealing with all of this without you cussing, throwing things and threatening her. She didn’t want this to happen. It isn’t her fault.” At this point, my dad’s eyes narrowed, an evil grin appeared on his face, and he said, “Perhaps you ought to hide the knives.”

When Kristina and I were going through pre-marriage counseling, we had to fill out a family history questionnaire. One of the questions was something along the lines of; ‘Did you ever see your parents exercise violence towards each other? If so, describe.’ Kristina put something like, “My dad called my mom a pooh-pooh head.” I put down, “My father held a knife up to my mother’s throat.” My dad has always had a violent streak. The reasons for it are understandable. Choosing to exercise it though; inexcusable.

I said good-bye to Dad and Ethel at their door, and reiterated the fact that I could not stop by again the following day. Hailey had a performance that night, and there was nothing that was going to keep me from being there.

After work the following day, I received an urgent message on my voice mail. “You have to stop by the house. Dad is throwing things, and won’t let the workmen into the house (Remember the Alamo!).” I fly down the freeway and to the house. Stopping in, I find the workmen are already inside the house. Seemingly, dad has simmered down. I go inside and talk to my dad. Again. Same discussion. Same response. (Side note: If your dad is feeling his age, and simultaneously living in pride and arrogance, don’t even jokingly tell him to straighten up or you’ll beat him up.) Dad said he understands and will behave.

Some have asked me if this was the result of the Alzheimers. Although there may be some overlay, at the end of the day; if you are a violent, angry, sarcastic man, you will grow into the same as an old man. My dad never took steps to deal with his inner demons. Now, there remains little or no opportunity to do so. I recall this story about a friends’ mom in her old age. They had taken her to visit one of her friends, and when she got back home, she said to them, “One of these days, I must go visit dear _____.” When they told her that she had just seen that old friend, she responded by saying, “Did I have a good time?”