Full Moon Memories

Recently I emailed a friend about a post on her blog where she mentioned a friend of hers was losing her Mom to Alzheimer's, telling her I hoped her friend was okay, that I would be praying for her friend and her friend's Mom.  It hit me, the way her friend expressed herself, saying her Mom was slipping away and how difficult it is to watch it happen, to see someone who was once vibrant, outgoing, happy just fading right before your very eyes.  Reminded me of when my Dad was going through the very same thing.  Not due to Alzheimer's, but just fading away.  See my Dad had a heart attack at the beginning of December, some years ago.  Sometimes it feels like it was centuries ago, others it feels like it was yesterday.  He was in a coma for about two days and then one morning he just came back, extubated himself (which totally blew the nurses' minds) and demanded to see me and my Mom.  His memory was wiped clean.  He did not remember my Mom was gone, or his parents.  And I did not want to tell him.  At least not right away.  He always knew me and my sister, knew we were his daughters, but other than that, his mind was pretty well wiped clean of fairly recent events.  Whenever I arrived at the hospital he would ask "Where's your Mom?" and I would tell him, "Dada, come on, you know she was here all day and left a little while to go and make dinner!" and he'd say "Right, right, it's these medicines, they confuse me!"  That worked for a while, as long as he was still in the hospital.

He recovered enough that his doctor sent him to rehab, where I continued the ruse for a while.  Until one afternoon when I got a call from this absolutely wonderful nurse taking care of him at the rehab place.  She told me he was REALLY ticked off and agitated and I needed to get there right away.  So, I took off (I've always had good bosses in that way) and drove over.  When I got there, she was waiting for me and said "Preparate!"  (Get ready!)  Sure enough, there was my Dad, sitting in his wheelchair, tapping his fingers.  He said he wanted to know the truth, so I told him, "Let's go out on the patio, it's a beautiful afternoon!" We sat under a big, old, shady tree and he looked straight at me and said "Why don't I ever see my wife, your Mom, and don't tell me she just left, because I know that is a lie."  So, I held both his hands and asked him "Daddy, why do you think you never see her?"  His eyes, those eyes, oh, my.  You know how they say eyes are the windows to your soul?  Well, it's true.  I looked into his eyes and could see his heart breaking.  He said "She's gone, isn't she?  When?"  I said "Yes, two years ago."  He sighed, asked me to take him back to his room.

He asked me to tell him what we had done when she passed away.  I told him we had been surrounded by friends and family, had followed her wishes to scatter her ashes on the ocean, at a spot she loved, after a Mass in her name.  That it had been a beautiful, cool, sunny Spring morning and the sun had shone particularly bright when we scattered her ashes, almost as if welcoming her home.  Two very dear friends had been with us, along with his brother and his wife.  Afterwards we all went to breakfast at IHOP and had pancakes, just as my Mom had requested.  Then he and I went home and planted three rose bushes.  I told him all of Mom's wishes had been followed.  The sun shining so brightly, the scent of the salty water lapping at our feet, have stuck in my mind all these years.



We talked a long time that afternoon, my Dad and I.  His mind was clear, I had "my" Dad, the man that raised me, back at least for a little while.  That evening there was a full moon, we could see it from his room.  He told me "Do you remember when you were little, you used to babble away to the moon and I'd tell your Mom it worried me and she'd tell me to leave you alone, you were expressing yourself.  I really loved your mother and we both really loved you."  My parents had the kind of marriage that makes you believe in marriage.  They were always happy to see each other, we were always happy to get home at the end of the day. That afternoon and evening, although difficult, were such a gift, because he remembered, his memory was returning and, possibly, just maybe, at least for a little while, please, I had my Dad back!  He told me, let's sit outside and look at the moon, it's so beautiful.  So, I wheeled him out to the little terrace outside his room and dragged a chair outside and we sat there, holding hands, talking.  His nurse, the one that had called me came in and said "You two are quite the pair, sitting there looking at the moon!"  And it was a beautiful moon, full, glowing in the night sky.  When I left to go home, he called my cell, something he had not done since before his heart attack, and told me "Call me when you get home, so I know you got back safe.  I'll see you in the morning, I love you."  I thought maybe, just maybe, he'll be okay, he'll get through this.  I'll have him for a while longer.

The next morning I drove over to see him.  I'd go in the morning before heading to work and after work.  I wanted him to know he was cared about, thought about, loved.  He was waiting for me, I'd stop at McDonald's once or twice a week and get him a hash brown, he loved those crunchy hash browns.  He munched on his treat and said "My parents are gone too, right?"  I said, "Yes, Dada.  They are."  He gave this big sigh.  I shaved him and then headed to the office.  He came home on Valentine's Day and for a while, he rallied.  We were blessed with wonderful neighbors who took turns sitting with him, getting his lunch, keeping him company.  My aunt, my Mom's sister, would visit him a few times a week.  He had a wonderful visiting nurse, Sylvia, a Jamaican lady, who became part of our family.  Even after her visits with him expired, she continued to visit at least every other day, even on weekends, making sure he took a shower, shaving him.  Between her, my aunt and our neighbors, I felt safe leaving for work, because I knew he had people that truly cared about him with him.

Then he caught a cold,  One night, he had trouble breathing, I called 911 and we were off to the hospital again.  In the E.R. they stabilized him, he started feeling better, I went to get some coffee for my sister and me and returned to find all  hell had broken loose.  He'd had another heart attack. After a few weeks and a few close calls, he stabilized enough to be transferred to a different rehab facility, more of a hospice place.  His memory was gone, again.  Although he still knew my sister and me.  He knew my aunt.  But other than that, he really didn't remember a whole lot.  Zip, nyet, nada. My aunt and I, we did have our differences, but she was family through and through during that time.  If he asked for rice pudding (she was a master baker), she'd make him rice pudding from scratch.  It was a favorite of his.  Still, it was hard seeing him slipping away.  One afternoon I asked him "Daddy, do you remember when I was little?" and he said "No, I just know you are my daughter."  That was heartbreaking.  Even now, it still is.  One weekend, I was sitting by his bed, reading.  He was taking a nap, sleeping so peacefully.  I looked over and he was wide awake, just looking at me, so serious. He said "I must have been a good father, because you are such a good daughter."  I looked at him and smiled, told him "Daddy, that is a daughter's sacred duty.  You don't remember, but whenever I wanted some spending money and asked you, you would always say yes and tell me, that is a father's sacred duty, to take care of his child.  Well, now it is my turn to take care of you, okay?"  To this day, I feel it was an honor and a privilege to be there for him.

My cousin, his favorite nephew, died suddenly during this time. He was working in his backyard one afternoon and that night he was gone. I did not tell my Dad, did not see the point. The evening of my cousin's funeral, my father had a very restless night and I stayed with him.  In the middle of the night he sat up in his bed and looked towards the door of his room and said "My nephew, look, look at what they've done to me."  I know he was talking to my cousin, my beautiful, tall, handsome cousin who was gone much, much too soon from this life.  Early the next morning, he was, finally, sleeping peacefully, and I left to go to the funeral home.  I wanted to see my cousin one last time.  My cousin who gave the best hugs in the world, my big, tall, I can take care of everything, beautiful cousin. I took the day off and stayed with my Dad that day.

A few days later, on a Saturday I walked into his room and lo and behold, my Dad was sitting up in bed.  Not my Dad after his second heart attack, but "my" Dad, the one that had raised me.  He looked at me and said "Give me a hug!"  Oh, that was the best hug ever.  I just leaned over, put my head on his chest, I could have stayed there forever.  We had the best conversations that day, that kind of conversations we'd always had, ranging from the most inane of subjects to the deepest.  That day was a gift.  I called my sister, my Dad's uncle, his sisters that afternoon and told them, if you want to see him again, he's himself today.  The next day my sister and his uncle visited, but towards late afternoon, I could see "my" Dad slipping away, fading.  The next morning, he had faded again.  But, oh, I would not have traded that Saturday and Sunday for all the money in the world.  Thursday afternoon when I got there, he looked at me and said "My daughter, I'm so glad you're here, I've been waiting for you."  I just knew, he was ready to go.  His nurse came in and said his heart was failing, they were ready to intubate if it failed, they had the team ready to resuscitate.  I told her no.  Asked if he was in pain and she said no, his heart was just slowing down and was I sure.  I was.  I said, as long as he wasn't in pain, just let him be, let him go.  I was not about to put him through that again.  Ever.  I called my aunt and I called my sister.  My aunt was there in less than five minutes.  I called our former neighbors, who I knew loved him.  They'd had twins recently, but she left the babies and came over to be with us.  How can I ever forget that?

We stood by him, my aunt and I, each holding a hand. I sang him songs he'd sing to me every birthday.  He just went to sleep.  There was a nurse that kept coming into his room, off and on, she'd just stand at the foot of the bed, bow her head, as if praying. She kept vigil with us.  And he just went to sleep.  It was July 31st, 1997.  Right before midnight.  My sister got there about 10 minutes after he'd left.  She went home with me that night.  I followed his wishes.  Same instructions as my Mom.  No funeral service, direct cremation, a Mass and scatter his ashes where we'd scattered Mom's.  The following week, I followed his instructions to the letter.  My aunt, once more, by my side.  Along with some good and trusted friends.  We all gathered at the little chapel where we had gathered for my Mom three years before. Then we went home, where my sister was waiting for me.  She and I went by ourselves to scatter his ashes.  It started raining softly, like a gentle benediction, as we scattered his ashes.  Then we went home and ordered Chinese food, just like he'd said that last afternoon we had talked, that blessed, blessed afternoon I'd had my Dad back.  Oh, how he loved Chinese food.  Special fried rice and egg rolls.

It was easier for me to deal with his passing than it had been to deal with my Mom's.  Maybe because I had gotten used to coming home and him not being there.  But I still missed him.  A few months later, in October, I was outside all day planting impatiens as we had always done, I was in the garden all day, until dark.  Night fell, the moon came out of hiding, I looked up and realized it was a full moon.  There she was, shining in all her glory and suddenly I felt so happy, I felt my Dad right there with me.  It was like I could almost touch him, I felt him so close.  I watered the newly planted flowers, went inside for a much-needed hot shower, put on fresh pajamas, turned on the outside lights and looked out at our tiny garden. It looked so pretty, colorful, happy, a riot of pink and purple and red impatiens, ferns everywhere, the red and pink rose bushes my grandmother had planted with me and my Mom, the ones I had planted with him after my Mom.  And I looked at that beautiful moon glowing so bright.  I remembered babbling at the moon as a child, sitting in the moonlight listening to my grandfather and my Dad spinning fairy tales for me.  I remembered that moonlit night when my Dad and I sat looking at it, talking and I was thankful for my moonlight memories.

These last posts have been rather heavy, next one, I promise will be completely and utterly silly, maybe even include a recipe or two.  Cookie baking time is just around the corner, after all!  Time to deck the halls, trim the tree and light the candles.  Until next time, be kind to one another, cherish your loved ones and keep the faith!