"I love you Brad!"

[Brad Fox]

         

In about 2005, my parents and my adult disabled brother were living in their home here in Fallbrook.  I had prevailed upon them to move here from their first retirement home in South Laguna, a home that turned out to be more of a burden than a pleasure.  I wanted them to be close to me and my family so that we could help them in their declining years.  They were in their late 80's.  

 

Dad was in the early stages of dementia, but none of us knew it.  Curiously, his computer was a key indicator, as he would regularly have troubles maintaining his operating system.  I would no sooner make repairs to it, then the next day he had "blown up" the system again.  As it took me hours to reload his software, this got pretty aggravating.  I wondered, "what the heck are you doing Dad?"  At this time I was working full time as a teacher, so any help I could give them was done late after my school work was done.  I would go over to their house, cook their evening meal, work with my brother on an assistive technology laptop, and do any light chores.  Weekends were spent maintaining the house and yard (as well as doing all the work on my own home and yard).  It was exhausting!

 

One Saturday I was repairing a troublesome bathroom faucet in their master suite.  I had to walk back and forth from the garage to fetch tools and parts as the afternoon wore on.  Each time I walked by my dad's chair he would say "Is there anything I can do to help you Brad?"  The first time I politely said no, and the second time I just got the feeling that he really wanted to help in any way he could.  I assured him that there was nothing he needed to do and that I had everything under control.  By the time he had said it 4 or 5 times I was quite irritated with him and I let him know in fairly strong words that I didn't appreciate him asking me each time I walked by.

 

Some time later I was tasked with taking the day off to drive him to a neurologist for a mental health checkup.  My mom had complained that he was forgetting simple grocery list items or other tasks that she had asked him to do.  He had had a few fender scrapes in the parking lots around town.  He wasn't his usual "aware" self when he was engaged in conversations, and he was making unreasonable online or telephone purchases.

 

The doctor gave him a simple memory test, asking him to remember 3 items until they had finished their conversation.  He couldn't remember even one of the items.  This was a man who had spent his career as a medical doctor, delivering 1,000's of babies and caring for the health of 1,000's of women.  A WWII vet.  A man who worked in the oil fields and fruit packing sheds in the Central Valley to earn money to support his family and pay for his education.  A man who had been faithful to his wife for 60 years and had dealt with the crushing defeat of a severely disabled child.

 

I don't think I ever felt so sad and so alone.  I couldn't even discuss how I felt about his demise with him!  How sorry I was!  I didn't feel comfortable talking with him about his condition, fearing it would cause him anguish.  It was the confirmation of our worst fears and the beginning of several years of fading in his personality.  

 

Some time later, I thought back about all the aforementioned incidents that had been flag posts on his journey into dementia.  And then I remembered the plumbing incident.

 

I had mistaken Dad's offers of help during my generally frustrating day as an irritation and nuisance.  But then I realized it was just his way of saying "I love you Brad!  Is there anything, anything at all that I can do to make your load lighter?  I so appreciate all you do for Mom and me!"

I always knew there were different ways to say "I love you", but I never realized that some ways were so hard to perceive and understand.  The rules of communication between my dad and I had changed and I hadn't seen it coming.  I had taken his offer of help at face value and missed his underlying deep feelings.  

Sometimes people aren't what you want them to be, no matter how desperately you need that.  It's not that they don't want to give it, as much as, they can't.  This is a new lens of perspective which is now very valuable to me in assessing my perceived shortcomings of others.  I'm glad that I went through this difficult experience with my dad as it has made me appreciate all such precious and fragrant expressions of love .  It was perhaps the last great gift of his life to me.

Facebook comments:

Dave Munson What a wonderful story! I'm so glad you shared that experience with all of us FB friends BJ. Having known your parents since high school and witnessing their decline in mental and physical health, this story really helps me understand more about my family and even my wife who is having her share of issues. Debby is always asking me if she can help when I'm loading the dishwasher or making the bed and stuff...I usually say thanks and it's OK Deb, I've got it covered. Now I know what she's really doing...she's saying I love you and I wish I could help. Thanks Brad

Brad Fox The only way we can get through this life with a semblance of beauty and appreciation is to share our lives with each other. Thanks Dave, and thanks for loving "our" Debbie!

Dave Munson You bet BJ! I always enjoyed your Mom & Dad. Sharing our stories is important!

Phyllis Malcomson Wilburn Beautifully said Brad. Many of us have shared your experience and I pray that our children don’t have that burden.

Brad Fox Thanks Phyllis Malcomson Wilburn. What had seemed like a burden was actually adversity introducing me to my truest self. It made me better for others.

Andie Phelps MacArthur Beautifully written, Brad. This a a tough thing many of us go through. I could relate to so much. How I wished later that I'd understood what was going on with them and maybe handled some things better. We all do the best we can. I don't think anyone really understands until they've been through it.
All my best to you and your family.

Vicki Custodio What a touching, beautiful remembrance Brad. My dad put a new roof on my house when he was 65 years old. He died at age 70. Mom stayed in their Pasadena home until she was 76. Then she moved into a retirement community close to me. She never stopped wanting to help her family—watching her great grand baby, making an occasional dinner. Her purpose in life was to do for her family. I will miss them until the day I die. What a blessing to have godly parents.

Kim Page Thank you for sharing this. God just used you to speak to my heart in a very precise way. Love your heart and your faith. Thank you!

Brad Fox You have spoken love into my life many times Kim! Love you and what you do for your guys and for our world!