Father's Day
My Dad is a co-pilot. Each night, a taxi picks him up, takes him to the airport, and he flies to Chicago and points west. It's a good job, he says, even though the turnaround time is so quick he never disembarks until returning to Oklahoma City.
My Dad has dementia. The flights are all in his mind. The ritual plays out each night until he tires and goes to bed.
Dad never exhibited a particular interest in flying, so we're not sure what has triggered this reality. When the fantasy started, he was just going to take flying lessons. Then he joined a flight crew as flight engineer. Now he's co-pilot. Perhaps pilot awaits. Or perhaps, as the electricity between his nerves sputters more often, something else will emerge.
Dad gave up, mentally and physically, when Mom died two years ago. My brother became his primary caregiver.
We know now that we should have made preliminary arrangements for nursing home care, and admitted him sooner. We didn't, because we thought it would destroy Dad. He brought his parents to live with us when they couldn't care for themselves. When Dad finally put his parents in a nursing home, he believed he had failed as a son. None of us have any knowledge of Dad visiting his parents after they were admitted.
So we waited, while my brother surrendered his work and social life to Dad's care. After two years, when it became too much, we started the process for admission, but it is not something you can rush. Folks at Marion Manor were enormously helpful, but ultimately Dad ended up in an Oklahoma City facility.
Dad didn't die upon admission. He's doing as well as can be expected, and much better than at home. The staff likes his sense of humor, and they keep an eye out for the cab to take him to the airport.
I'm certain there are families out there wracked with guilt about what to do with an aged loved one. Each family is different, but I would suggest that you not assume admission to a nursing home will "kill them." They may die three days after admission, they may live for decades; the Lord will come for them in His own good time.
But unless you are the primary caregiver of someone with dementia, you give up the right to insist that the loved one "is happier at home." If you are so certain, quit your job, leave your family, and move in to care for them. Otherwise, confine your remarks to "what can I do to help?"
When a caregiver decides they've had enough, be it a week or two years, understand that THEY ARE RIGHT.
Before that day happens, start the paperwork necessary to begin admission procedures. Visit with SRS, Department of Veterans' Affairs, and every nursing home you can find. Be prepared.
Father's Day will be just another day to Dad, I suspect. In many ways, the man who helped raise me doesn't exist anymore.
Happy flying, Dad. I hope you get promoted to pilot one of these days.
You deserve it.
— MATT NEWHOUSE
