Sister Disappearing From Dad’s Memory

Yesterday I avoided visiting my dad, and I got a great deal done. Today I figured it was time to drop by again.

Before I visited him, I went to the Calvary Chapel near his ALF. I had thought Calvary Chapel might be a good place to take him on Sundays. Unfortunately, I was disappointed.

I went there with the idea that Calvary Chapel was a charismatic church. That is true, but they tone it down a lot. They don’t believe every Christian can have the gift of prayer in tongues, and that’s a crippling error. They reject the prosperity gospel, as they should, but they seem to think it’s normal for Christians to have physical problems they can’t get healed.

Do these issues of doctrine really matter, when my goal is simply to get a demented octogenerian to attend church? Yes. Bad doctrine can have unexpected effects. The place I visited today was nearly devoid of God’s presence. Wherever I take my dad, I want him to sense that God is near. Taking him to a place with a dry, dead atmosphere won’t help him, and it might put him off Christianity.

When I got to the ALF, my dad was at a table waiting for lunch. I sat down, and we talked.

He asked me what my sister’s name was.

This is new. Last week, he had to ask me to tell him my mother’s name. That was startling, too. Demented people forget recent things first, so it’s a big deal when my dad forgets someone he met in the Fifties. Now he’s losing his memory of my sister, who came along a couple of years after he met my mother. The obvious conclusion: I’m next. There were only four of us, and he has forgotten the other two.

Today he kept telling me what a wonderful son I was. He said that if he could create a perfect son, he would be like me. I don’t know what to make of these things. My dad was angry and cruel when I was young, but he also felt affection for me. He felt more affection for me than anyone. Is he simply fixating on me for that reason, or is he just clinging fiercely to the person he depends on for everything?

I don’t know the explanation, but I would much rather hear positive things about myself than negative things. It would have been nice if he had been supportive when I was a kid, when it would have been a tremendous help. That boat has sailed, but I’ll take what I can get. Many people go their entire lives without getting approval from their parents.

When my dad asked about my sister, I wondered if I should contact her and let her know what’s happening so she would have a chance to visit him. I concluded that I should not. She is not interested.

We have heard from her twice in the last three years. The first time, she had been ejected (again) from drug rehab, and she thought my dad would pay for her housing, with about 12 hours of notice. My dad had just been diagnosed, and he let me deal with it. I told her he was no longer in any condition to help her, and after she heard that, she didn’t call any more.

When a person never contacts you unless they want something, it’s important to pick up on it.

The second time we heard from her, the communication was in the form of a Christmas card. There was no return address on the envelope, so the reasonable assumption is that she did not want to hear from us in return. The card didn’t mention me.

That was a little over a year ago.

She’s a grown (and old) woman, and she could have reached out (without demanding money) after he became disabled. She chose not to. She still chooses not to. She knows about his problem, and besides, he’s nearly 90, so she knows time is short. She hasn’t made a move. For me to stir her up would be a big mistake. If she did anything at all, she would only make things harder.

My dad also told me he was scared because he couldn’t remember things. It’s amazing that he took so long to realize it. Denial is really something. He used the word “panic.” I kept telling him he had people to remember things for him now. I told him I wasn’t going anywhere. I always tell him not to worry.

He insisted on having me write down my address. He likes to have things written down, and then he forgets he has them. He could not remember living in this house. He has made me write the address down before, but until today, he remembered living here.

When I told him I had to go home, he said that would be unbearable. He used that word. I had to go, however, so here I am.

Before I left, we talked about God. I told him God would help him with his problems. I told him he needed to pray. He has never had a prayer habit, so he doesn’t think about it. He said he would forget.

We prayed together. I prayed for God to help him with his fear. I prayed for God to help him to get to know him. My dad agreed with me in prayer, and that was the best I could do. I’m very grateful for the experience. Many American children pray with their parents every day. Look how long it took me to get to a point where my dad would participate.

Because my dad is forgetting family members, I think the end is not far off. Last year, I thought God told me my dad would go during the first three months of 2019, but I have made mistakes before. It’s starting to look like I was correct about his message.

I have to look into cremation. Unbelievable. That’s where I am now. Tomorrow, I have to call a few cremation companies and find out how to prepare. This week, a social worker actually reminded me to do that.

I assume they just show up, haul the body away, and burn it. I don’t know what else there is to do. It sounds unceremonious. It’s what he demanded in his will, though, so I’ll get it done.

What if my dad’s mind goes completely, but his body lingers? That could happen. I wouldn’t know what to do about visiting him. I suppose I would still go, if I could stand it. On the other hand, I would feel better about longer absences, for travel and so on.

What do you do when they cremate your dad? Do you just put his box of ashes in the back of your car along with a suitcase and drive him to be buried with his wife? I guess so. I suppose it’s that simple. What a strange experience that would be.

When my mother was on the verge of death, several relatives flew to Florida. We were together in her hospital room. We were together at my dad’s house. My aunt helped me get rid of my mother’s clothes. My dad and I weren’t alone when we bought the coffin. Then we went to Kentucky and had a fairly big funeral, followed by lunch at the church. People brought food. Afterward, we were still congregating and talking and so on. This time it will be very different. One guy in an SUV, with a wooden box, driving up I-75.

There will be a graveside service, and I suppose I’ll take his ashes to the funeral home so people can come pay their respects first. A few relatives will show up. That will be it. Afterward, the new orphan drives home and gets back to work.

It would be better if he went sooner, not later. If he died while he still knew me and could say whatever was on his mind, it would be much better than lingering until after he became unable to speak and unaware of who I was.

The worse he gets, the more I want to take care of him, but the time to make a change passed about 20 years ago. He could have been baptized. He could have gotten supernatural control over his weight. He could have given up alcohol. He could have developed a prayer life and learned how to receive healing. It seems like heaven is all he can hope for now.

Should I pray for him to be healed? I used to do it all the time. I think he would misuse the gift, though. Some people have to be in trouble in order to be motivated to stay close to God.

For several years, I’ve expected my dad to accept Jesus very close to his death; much too close. Yesterday, a friend reminded me of a dream I had had. To me, the dream seemed to be about the church. She felt it was about my dad. Here’s something I wrote about it:

I dreamed I saw my father. He appeared to be over 100. He had no hair, and he was skinny, like a cancer patient. His body was just about gone, but his mind was absolutely clear, and he was energetic and at peace. In real life, he is dealing with dementia, he has a terrible weight problem, and he has no peace.

He had just cleaned a bathroom that had been filthy. I was amazed. In the he dream I had been trying and trying to get him to understand how nasty it was, and to clean it up. It stank up the whole house, and he couldn’t smell it.

I was relieved to see it clean. It was like winning the lottery.

I tried to say things that didn’t sound like backhanded criticism. I didn’t want to say “Finally!” I told him I would be happy to help him keep it clean.

Then we were driving. We were north of Miami. We drove through a little planned neighborhood that was very neat and peaceful. There was a Chick-fil-A just inside the entrance.

We decided to have lunch. When we went in, the waiters stood in a group and started singing to us. They were that happy to see my dad.

It’s not surprising that it was a Chick-fil-A. That’s what the atmosphere is like at their restaurants. They don’t sing to you, but they treat you like an honored guest. Also, Chick-fil-A has become a symbol of Christianity.

When my dad expressed interest in tables, people rushed to get out of the way, even if they had been there first.

Hair, which my dad lacked in the dream, represents the glory of God. The more you pray in tongues, the more the glory of God grows in your life. It looks like my dad won’t be around long enough to accumulate the blessings of prayer in tongues, but it appears that he will be saved.

People who haven’t repented and haven’t been sanctified by the Holy Spirit are like people who refuse to clean their filthy houses.

I thought Chick-fil-A represented heaven, and the waiters represented excited angels welcoming my dad, who represented eleventh-hour Christians, to his new home.

Maybe the dream was about my dad, or maybe he’s just typical of the people it was about.

Looking around the dining area at the ALF, I reminded myself how important it was not to be a jerk. I’m going to get old, too, and I do not want to be the kind of ALF resident staffers and fellow residents can’t stand. I want them to be thrilled to see me every day. I also want to keep praying about my diet and health. Death doesn’t scare me, but I don’t want to end up in memory care.

It may be that you will soon see a blog post here, indicating that my dad doesn’t know me. I don’t know what’s going to happen. At least we now have hope that we’ll be together in heaven.