So beautiful. You're reminding me to be more present with my own dad and open-hearted when I feel short on patience, and to recall some of the liminal, blissful, hilarious, poignant moments I had with my mom in her final years. Maybe it's the memories we keep as daughters and writers that are the gift of our parents' (kids') spirits to us. What if at their age they don't need to remember any more than the present Now, but we get to keep those memories for our own sustenance and meaning-making?
Every time I see his photo, it reminds me of my happy moments with him. I think of how we had such a lively and thoughtful conversation at Columbia, as he greeted me following my convocation speech in 2002. He couldn't have been more proud of his daughter, and the Elie Wiesel national essay contest that she won. You must have countless memories of this kind even as he loses his.
I'm hugely impressed by these responses that readers have posted, often in tears as I am, constantly and consistently caring and supportive.
You are giving us an immense storehouse of rich ideas and deep feelings! I only wish that I might have expressed mine as well during the long periods when my mother and younger brother were stricken by this dreadful disease. The irony is that the one person in our family who could have matched your eloquence was my brother, a journalist/author, but he was himself a victim. Thank you for being a writer of such extraordinary distinction. DD
Both my parents are on the threshold of needing care—my father much longer than my mom, and they are divorced so it’s logistically a nightmare. (Oh! How I wish I could get them both in the same senior housing community without them ever having to cross paths…)
I feel very much like how I felt raising my son. It was so much newness at each stage, and as soon as I felt I was ‘getting the hang of it’, we’d move into a new one.
With my parents, I don’t have the benefit of knowing that after each stage, the person in question will be getting more capable, more independent… instead, I know we are likely at the point where this is likely as good as it’s gonna get. I’m terrified. Tired. Pre-tired for the future…
I loved reading this, Courtney. My dad had a young onset dementia and we spent his 60’s (my 20’s-30’s) navigating that. Your day of bike riding will be remembered by you and such a precious day in this long, hard journey. And I totally believe it’s remembered by him. The dementia journey is heartbreaking and poignant and sacred. I remember both the ache and joy of days like you’ve written about. Wishing I could hug you and your sweet dad.
I think there is value in providing moments of joy even if they are not remembered.
I agree too that we embody our various experiences, remembered or not, sometimes for the good and sometimes for the not so good. It is fascinating to realize what my children do not remember, or remember only in fragments.
My 26 year old son remembers neither of my parents. My daughter in her mid-thirties does not remember my mother before her Alzheimers. My three years older daughter remembers both my parents well.
My heart felt this one. Thanks sharing and putting this experience in to words that ring so true. There are a lot of hard memories looking back at my dad’s final years of dementia, but thankfully with the passage of time those fade and I’m left with the good ones. Trying to create moments of connection (and becoming okay with some big fails) is all one can do.
I too have this experience of “does it matter” with the young and memory-impaired in my life, but the other main way it shows up for me is with books. A year or two later, I remember very little from the 100+ books I read each year, so what was the point? Like you, where I land is that a, I loved reading them while I was doing it, and b, they are still expanding my worldview and making other little impacts even if I don’t remember the details of the plots. I do wish the experience was even “fuller” and I remembered everything, but what can you do.
Thank you for writing this Courtney. I loved reading it. I have thought about this a lot, and the one thing I come back to over and over is that all that matters is the present moment. What is the function of memory? Do we have to remember something for it to be valuable? I don’t think so. My dad died 5 and a half years ago, and when I consider all of the memories that I’ve forgotten that my dad and I shared, my grief feels bottomless. But the essence of those memories is there, even though the details are gone. I guess similar to what your friend said about your dad’s mitochondria remembering. I don’t know if that’s any comfort but I find it to be when I remember it in hard moments!
I'm so glad you are putting in the time to do the fun things with your dad. My mom had dementia the last few years of her life (cancer-caused IMO) and towards the end, I was just trying to keep up with her care and my life (which I'm always very protective of, my self-care - something that now I wish I had been slightly less protective of at the time), that I didn't take the time to do fun or even together things with her very much. Granted, she was dying of cancer, so she wasn't as physically able as your dad, but in hindsight, and had I known her end was much nearer than I thought, I would have made the time to do the things, even as challenging as it would have been for me to "deal" with her and her orneriness. I tell everyone as their parents/family members age and near their ends, now, to do the things. Do all the things you can with them. I wish I had pushed her to still go to Denmark and Sweden with her good friend when her chemotherapy had started. The doctor advised against it, and so she didn't. But if anything wonderful can come out of my "mistakes" at the time, it's to tell everyone: Take the trips! Do the things! Spend the time! And hope that they do.
I forgive myself for my shortcomings in her care and our relationship, even though I have regrets. In the end, I gave her an absolutely beautiful and lovely family/friend-community-centered passing at home, and for that I am eternally proud and so glad to have done.
Everyone: do the things! Take the trips! spend the time! It's never as much time as you would have liked in the end. And it's for your memory as much as (if not more than) for theirs.
Courtney, I love hearing that you are putting in the time and energy. It's so worth it.
As a young kid I don't have many specific memories of events and activities that I did with my mum but I do remember that she was always there for me and especially during the struggle. There for hugs, there when I experienced pain and there when I felt sick. I remember a loose but vivid feeling of being grounded, cared for and loved. I think that's what your papa feels in his body right now even though he doesn't have the means to articulate it. Sending love. Xo
I remember a realization I had when my first niece was a toddler, that all the things we had done--all the zoo trips and picture books read and endless pushing of playground swings--would not be remembered by her. And at first blush it felt gutting. But I do think all that care goes into making a person, it goes into their cells and gives them a foundation and lets them know they are loved--and so I think it must be the same at the other side of life. All the care and moments of laughter and sunlight goes into their cells and lets them know--perhaps reminds them--they are loved.
Thank you for sharing this. It's going to stay with me a long time ❤️
I highly recommend the book "Creating Moments of Joy along the Alzheimer’s Journey" by Jolene Brackey. You created a moment of joy for your dad, and surely somewhere is the memory of breeze on face, laughter with daughter, and love.
I was really moved reading this post and shed a few tears. While I do not have parents requiring my care in the way you are so lovingly giving to your father, I have little kids with big demands and big hearts and big needs. I get stuck in the "why am I doing this?" often when I drag them out for a cross country ski, a hike, a bike ride, to a concert or a road trip. But reading these lovely words made my heart soar with hope that even if they don't remember formally these things, they matter in a different way. Thank you. ❤️
So beautiful. You're reminding me to be more present with my own dad and open-hearted when I feel short on patience, and to recall some of the liminal, blissful, hilarious, poignant moments I had with my mom in her final years. Maybe it's the memories we keep as daughters and writers that are the gift of our parents' (kids') spirits to us. What if at their age they don't need to remember any more than the present Now, but we get to keep those memories for our own sustenance and meaning-making?
Beautiful idea. Thank you, dear Shelly.
Every time I see his photo, it reminds me of my happy moments with him. I think of how we had such a lively and thoughtful conversation at Columbia, as he greeted me following my convocation speech in 2002. He couldn't have been more proud of his daughter, and the Elie Wiesel national essay contest that she won. You must have countless memories of this kind even as he loses his.
I'm hugely impressed by these responses that readers have posted, often in tears as I am, constantly and consistently caring and supportive.
You are giving us an immense storehouse of rich ideas and deep feelings! I only wish that I might have expressed mine as well during the long periods when my mother and younger brother were stricken by this dreadful disease. The irony is that the one person in our family who could have matched your eloquence was my brother, a journalist/author, but he was himself a victim. Thank you for being a writer of such extraordinary distinction. DD
This made me cry.
Both my parents are on the threshold of needing care—my father much longer than my mom, and they are divorced so it’s logistically a nightmare. (Oh! How I wish I could get them both in the same senior housing community without them ever having to cross paths…)
I feel very much like how I felt raising my son. It was so much newness at each stage, and as soon as I felt I was ‘getting the hang of it’, we’d move into a new one.
With my parents, I don’t have the benefit of knowing that after each stage, the person in question will be getting more capable, more independent… instead, I know we are likely at the point where this is likely as good as it’s gonna get. I’m terrified. Tired. Pre-tired for the future…
The video was lovely. So happy?
I loved reading this, Courtney. My dad had a young onset dementia and we spent his 60’s (my 20’s-30’s) navigating that. Your day of bike riding will be remembered by you and such a precious day in this long, hard journey. And I totally believe it’s remembered by him. The dementia journey is heartbreaking and poignant and sacred. I remember both the ache and joy of days like you’ve written about. Wishing I could hug you and your sweet dad.
I think there is value in providing moments of joy even if they are not remembered.
I agree too that we embody our various experiences, remembered or not, sometimes for the good and sometimes for the not so good. It is fascinating to realize what my children do not remember, or remember only in fragments.
My 26 year old son remembers neither of my parents. My daughter in her mid-thirties does not remember my mother before her Alzheimers. My three years older daughter remembers both my parents well.
Might I ask how old your father is?
76
I have no words for this, just need to keep breathing. Thank you, Courtney, for letting this understanding come through you.
My heart felt this one. Thanks sharing and putting this experience in to words that ring so true. There are a lot of hard memories looking back at my dad’s final years of dementia, but thankfully with the passage of time those fade and I’m left with the good ones. Trying to create moments of connection (and becoming okay with some big fails) is all one can do.
I too have this experience of “does it matter” with the young and memory-impaired in my life, but the other main way it shows up for me is with books. A year or two later, I remember very little from the 100+ books I read each year, so what was the point? Like you, where I land is that a, I loved reading them while I was doing it, and b, they are still expanding my worldview and making other little impacts even if I don’t remember the details of the plots. I do wish the experience was even “fuller” and I remembered everything, but what can you do.
Thank you for writing this Courtney. I loved reading it. I have thought about this a lot, and the one thing I come back to over and over is that all that matters is the present moment. What is the function of memory? Do we have to remember something for it to be valuable? I don’t think so. My dad died 5 and a half years ago, and when I consider all of the memories that I’ve forgotten that my dad and I shared, my grief feels bottomless. But the essence of those memories is there, even though the details are gone. I guess similar to what your friend said about your dad’s mitochondria remembering. I don’t know if that’s any comfort but I find it to be when I remember it in hard moments!
I'm so glad you are putting in the time to do the fun things with your dad. My mom had dementia the last few years of her life (cancer-caused IMO) and towards the end, I was just trying to keep up with her care and my life (which I'm always very protective of, my self-care - something that now I wish I had been slightly less protective of at the time), that I didn't take the time to do fun or even together things with her very much. Granted, she was dying of cancer, so she wasn't as physically able as your dad, but in hindsight, and had I known her end was much nearer than I thought, I would have made the time to do the things, even as challenging as it would have been for me to "deal" with her and her orneriness. I tell everyone as their parents/family members age and near their ends, now, to do the things. Do all the things you can with them. I wish I had pushed her to still go to Denmark and Sweden with her good friend when her chemotherapy had started. The doctor advised against it, and so she didn't. But if anything wonderful can come out of my "mistakes" at the time, it's to tell everyone: Take the trips! Do the things! Spend the time! And hope that they do.
I forgive myself for my shortcomings in her care and our relationship, even though I have regrets. In the end, I gave her an absolutely beautiful and lovely family/friend-community-centered passing at home, and for that I am eternally proud and so glad to have done.
Everyone: do the things! Take the trips! spend the time! It's never as much time as you would have liked in the end. And it's for your memory as much as (if not more than) for theirs.
Courtney, I love hearing that you are putting in the time and energy. It's so worth it.
As a young kid I don't have many specific memories of events and activities that I did with my mum but I do remember that she was always there for me and especially during the struggle. There for hugs, there when I experienced pain and there when I felt sick. I remember a loose but vivid feeling of being grounded, cared for and loved. I think that's what your papa feels in his body right now even though he doesn't have the means to articulate it. Sending love. Xo
I remember a realization I had when my first niece was a toddler, that all the things we had done--all the zoo trips and picture books read and endless pushing of playground swings--would not be remembered by her. And at first blush it felt gutting. But I do think all that care goes into making a person, it goes into their cells and gives them a foundation and lets them know they are loved--and so I think it must be the same at the other side of life. All the care and moments of laughter and sunlight goes into their cells and lets them know--perhaps reminds them--they are loved.
Thank you for sharing this. It's going to stay with me a long time ❤️
I highly recommend the book "Creating Moments of Joy along the Alzheimer’s Journey" by Jolene Brackey. You created a moment of joy for your dad, and surely somewhere is the memory of breeze on face, laughter with daughter, and love.
Thanks for the rec!
This is so very beautiful and hopeful. And the line, "Maybe his muscles were a little soar." Accidental poetry? (Love!)
I loved that too.
Accidental indeed. But I guess I'll leave it?! xoxo
I noticed and loved that slip too!
I was really moved reading this post and shed a few tears. While I do not have parents requiring my care in the way you are so lovingly giving to your father, I have little kids with big demands and big hearts and big needs. I get stuck in the "why am I doing this?" often when I drag them out for a cross country ski, a hike, a bike ride, to a concert or a road trip. But reading these lovely words made my heart soar with hope that even if they don't remember formally these things, they matter in a different way. Thank you. ❤️
That makes me really happy.
tears. thank you. my father passed a year ago with dementia. this gives me peace, knowing the loving moments imprinted. they mattered.