Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Michel "Paints" Again
Submitted by my brother, Marty:
Sadly, it’s been a long while since my father has used his remarkable creative talents. Perhaps the saddest part of dealing with his illness thus far for us is that it has robbed dad of his desire and ability to create. At least that’s what we thought!
Last Sunday during our regular weekly visit with Pop, Jodi sat down with him and brought to the table a set of colorful, foam pieces. It was a large set of many brightly colored, foam pieces, all cut in different geometric shapes. It seems the colors, shapes and sizes stimulated Dad’s creative juices, as he sat with Jodi for an hour and half, carefully placing the pieces down on the table as if he was orchestrating one of his masterpieces of bygone days.
It was an amazing sight! He studied each piece as Jodi handed it to him, reviewed carefully its shape, size and color, before placing it down on the table in the just the right spot, so that it coincided with the ongoing creation unfolding before us on the table. There were times when he would place a piece, lean back in his chair to observe, then lean over and pick it up and place it somewhere else that he decided looked better.
There were a few occasions when Jodi would place a piece and Dad would say “that’s nice” or he would pick up the piece she had placed and place it elsewhere, where he thought it belonged. He stacked pieces according to size, he arranged pieces according to shape and the angles that were complimentary, and he matched pieces according to color. At the same time, he became more verbal as he continued to “paint”. His words were clear and his sentences, although brief, were understandable. And, true to form, they were instructional in nature, as he knew best where the pieces should be placed.
It was truly amazing to watch him study his canvas and create his masterpiece. The look in his eye, the words he spoke, the emphasis he placed on placing the pieces in the “correct” spot, and the sheer amount of time he remained focused on this single endeavor, was indeed quite moving for us. I have no doubt, in his mind’s eye he was at his drawing table in his studio working on another of so many works of art he has created in his lifetime. I must say, I was for a moment overwhelmed. I wish I could’ve kept the creation and hung it on my wall. Alas, all I have are the attached photos and a very wonderful memory.
Thank you, once again, Daisy. You are one of a kind and I love you. And I am certain my father does, too.
Just wanted to share this with you all.
Bye for now…
Labels: colors, foam shapes, Michel, painting
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Grateful for Small Miracles -- FLASHBACK Passover 2008
I witnessed a small miracle recently and I'm excited to write about it.
Passover in our family has been a major tradition for as long as I can remember. that's nearly 50 years. The first night was always at the Schwartz's, and it was BIG. It was not uncommon for us to have 30 or more guests -- family, friends, neighbors, friends of friends.
There probably wasn't a Schwartz friend in the world who hasn't at one time experienced a Schwartz seder. I remember as far back as Jr. high school I was inviting friends to experience the Jewish tradition of the Passover seder.
Dad was the master of ceremonies and he relished in the honor. It was his show. He loved every minute of every seder. From his "throne" he would lead us through the order of the Haggadah, the ceremonial book that tells the story of Passover. He would call upon each person to participate at whatever level they were able, in whatever language they chose. Hebrew, English, Yiddish, it didn't matter.
A number of years ago, probably ten, the venue switched to my sister and brother-in-law's home because it became too much for mom to manage, and my parents don't have the space in their apartment.
So the venue changed but the tradition continued, and dad happily presided for a few more years. And then one year, a couple after dad was diagnosed, the call went out to me. Would I be willing to take on the responsibility of MC of the Schwartz-Leslie family seder. Of course, how could I say no?
It's been five or six years since I took over and I always sit next to Michel at the head of the table, with mom on his other side. He welcomed me at first, probably believing it was a quite a mitzvah to pass the honor on to your son. But as the years pass, he sits patiently singing along those songs that he recognizes, and just listening and watching all the rest.
I know he enjoys it because I know it reminds him of his childhood when he probably sat next to my zaydeh and followed along for three hours, which would be typical of an orthodox seder. Ours has been consistently abridged through the years to a point now where it is no longer than an hour. Then we eat.
One of the Schwartz traditions, dating back to when my sister Lynda was in Hebrew school as a child, is a beautiful duet that dad and she did at a particular time in the seder. Every year we would be blessed with the lovely voices of Lynda and Michel singing "Malachiel Hayom," which means...[to be completed]
It is an enchanting melody that Lynda learned in school and brought home to sing with dad, and they sang it every year since to a silent and mesmerized audience. Both my sister and dad have wonderful voices. It's a verse and response song that Lynda starts off in soprano and Michel follows in tenor. It's the musical highlight of the seder.
When Lynda couldn't make it home from college one year, we played it on tape for everyone to enjoy.
This year the time came for the duet and we were all not sure if dad would participate. We were quite sure he would either not recall his part, or not desire to perform. In any case, we were not expecting much.
Much to the surprise of everyone there, not only did dad participate and follow Lynda's lead, but he performed with adeptness and grace. His voice and tone were quite good, and he barely missed a beat. The memory of many years served him well, and we were charmed. It was a small miracle, but a very meaningful one to those who love my dad.
Passover in our family has been a major tradition for as long as I can remember. that's nearly 50 years. The first night was always at the Schwartz's, and it was BIG. It was not uncommon for us to have 30 or more guests -- family, friends, neighbors, friends of friends.
There probably wasn't a Schwartz friend in the world who hasn't at one time experienced a Schwartz seder. I remember as far back as Jr. high school I was inviting friends to experience the Jewish tradition of the Passover seder.
Dad was the master of ceremonies and he relished in the honor. It was his show. He loved every minute of every seder. From his "throne" he would lead us through the order of the Haggadah, the ceremonial book that tells the story of Passover. He would call upon each person to participate at whatever level they were able, in whatever language they chose. Hebrew, English, Yiddish, it didn't matter.
A number of years ago, probably ten, the venue switched to my sister and brother-in-law's home because it became too much for mom to manage, and my parents don't have the space in their apartment.
So the venue changed but the tradition continued, and dad happily presided for a few more years. And then one year, a couple after dad was diagnosed, the call went out to me. Would I be willing to take on the responsibility of MC of the Schwartz-Leslie family seder. Of course, how could I say no?
It's been five or six years since I took over and I always sit next to Michel at the head of the table, with mom on his other side. He welcomed me at first, probably believing it was a quite a mitzvah to pass the honor on to your son. But as the years pass, he sits patiently singing along those songs that he recognizes, and just listening and watching all the rest.
I know he enjoys it because I know it reminds him of his childhood when he probably sat next to my zaydeh and followed along for three hours, which would be typical of an orthodox seder. Ours has been consistently abridged through the years to a point now where it is no longer than an hour. Then we eat.
One of the Schwartz traditions, dating back to when my sister Lynda was in Hebrew school as a child, is a beautiful duet that dad and she did at a particular time in the seder. Every year we would be blessed with the lovely voices of Lynda and Michel singing "Malachiel Hayom," which means...[to be completed]
It is an enchanting melody that Lynda learned in school and brought home to sing with dad, and they sang it every year since to a silent and mesmerized audience. Both my sister and dad have wonderful voices. It's a verse and response song that Lynda starts off in soprano and Michel follows in tenor. It's the musical highlight of the seder.
When Lynda couldn't make it home from college one year, we played it on tape for everyone to enjoy.
This year the time came for the duet and we were all not sure if dad would participate. We were quite sure he would either not recall his part, or not desire to perform. In any case, we were not expecting much.
Much to the surprise of everyone there, not only did dad participate and follow Lynda's lead, but he performed with adeptness and grace. His voice and tone were quite good, and he barely missed a beat. The memory of many years served him well, and we were charmed. It was a small miracle, but a very meaningful one to those who love my dad.
Labels: Alzheimer's, memories, passover, seder, singing, traditions
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Lost Art of Calli-Graphic Judaica
It's Thanksgiving morning and I pause to give thanks for having the good fortune of growing up in a loving, compassionate and considerate environment. My family was always close and for the most part we loved and helped each other through thick and thin. But that's not why I'm writing today.
Today I talk about my exceptionally talented dad. My dad was a highly prolific man. And I don't mean his children... there are only three of us. What I mean is his ability to create. His natural talent for developing ideas, inventing solutions, and designing glorious creations was extraordinary. I'm not sure I've ever met anyone quite as prolific in this sense as my dad. His ideas flowed like honey from a hive.
As far back as I can remember, if I ever had a problem that I couldn't solve, he would come up with a solution... or five. I'm not talking schoolwork -- that wasn't his thing. I'm talking real life. Like how to build a clubhouse, what my platform should be when running for class president, and what job to interview for when there were choices. There was never a problem too perplexing for him to invent a solution.
Although dad invented, created, solved, designed, conceived and initiated many things in his life, he was most proud of his art. He invented what he called "Calli-Graphic Judaica" or the use of the Hebrew alphabet (Aleph Bet) to create beautiful, meaningful works of art. And he did so at a pace you could not imagine. His ability to visualize a work of art, a logo, a monogram, an invitation, using his unique style of Hebrew letters, was mesmerizing.
There were times when a Rabbi would call to ask for a logo for a dinner or an organization and dad had it designed before he hung up the phone. His mind worked lightning fast, and he could usually turn out art in minutes or hours. In this sense he was also quite prolific. There were times when he would complete a fabulous painting in a day... or several in a week.
The only thing Michel liked more than creating his art was talking about it. He was so proud of his work, and rightfully so. Nothing he ever created was "just art." Everything he created had a deeper meaning and there was always a message entwined in the design. This is why he so enjoyed his work. He could talk about it for hours and his audience -- anyone who would listen -- was usually captivated by his inventiveness, and his charm.
I think I can safely say that there has never been another Judaic artist with the talent of my dad. By this I mean, I have never seen anything close to the fluidity, originality and uniqueness of Michel's "Calli-Graphic Judaica." Take a look for yourself: http://www.jewdaica.com/. This is the website we built to feature dad's work, and by the way, he invented the name Jewdaica to be different.
In his career dad probably created thousands of works of art, all using his distinctive letter style. It was what made him Michel, and unique in the Jewish art world. If he wasn't painting, he was designing jewelry, sculpture, torah cases, memorials, journals, mezuzahs, and more. He was always drawing, doodling and creating, from morning to very late at night.
Even in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's he was still painting and drawing quite often. Until his stroke (TIA). In the summer of 2006 he had a mild stroke and although physically he is in pretty good shape, he has lost his interest in painting. If I can point to one thing that upsets me the most, this would be it.
Not long ago we were sitting at the dining room table with my mom and I showed dad a large page of his designs for jewelry, logos, monograms, etc. They were unmistakeably Michel creations. His work is very distinctive. I asked dad, "Do you recognize the work?" and he looked at me with a blank stare and said, "no." I told him he did all of them and he replied no again. My heart sank, tears welled in mom's eyes; I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
The work of Michel will live on in many places for many years to come. Perhaps forever. But I'm not sure there will ever be another artist quite like my dad. A great loss in the Jewish art world.
Today I talk about my exceptionally talented dad. My dad was a highly prolific man. And I don't mean his children... there are only three of us. What I mean is his ability to create. His natural talent for developing ideas, inventing solutions, and designing glorious creations was extraordinary. I'm not sure I've ever met anyone quite as prolific in this sense as my dad. His ideas flowed like honey from a hive.
As far back as I can remember, if I ever had a problem that I couldn't solve, he would come up with a solution... or five. I'm not talking schoolwork -- that wasn't his thing. I'm talking real life. Like how to build a clubhouse, what my platform should be when running for class president, and what job to interview for when there were choices. There was never a problem too perplexing for him to invent a solution.
Although dad invented, created, solved, designed, conceived and initiated many things in his life, he was most proud of his art. He invented what he called "Calli-Graphic Judaica" or the use of the Hebrew alphabet (Aleph Bet) to create beautiful, meaningful works of art. And he did so at a pace you could not imagine. His ability to visualize a work of art, a logo, a monogram, an invitation, using his unique style of Hebrew letters, was mesmerizing.
There were times when a Rabbi would call to ask for a logo for a dinner or an organization and dad had it designed before he hung up the phone. His mind worked lightning fast, and he could usually turn out art in minutes or hours. In this sense he was also quite prolific. There were times when he would complete a fabulous painting in a day... or several in a week.
The only thing Michel liked more than creating his art was talking about it. He was so proud of his work, and rightfully so. Nothing he ever created was "just art." Everything he created had a deeper meaning and there was always a message entwined in the design. This is why he so enjoyed his work. He could talk about it for hours and his audience -- anyone who would listen -- was usually captivated by his inventiveness, and his charm.
I think I can safely say that there has never been another Judaic artist with the talent of my dad. By this I mean, I have never seen anything close to the fluidity, originality and uniqueness of Michel's "Calli-Graphic Judaica." Take a look for yourself: http://www.jewdaica.com/. This is the website we built to feature dad's work, and by the way, he invented the name Jewdaica to be different.
In his career dad probably created thousands of works of art, all using his distinctive letter style. It was what made him Michel, and unique in the Jewish art world. If he wasn't painting, he was designing jewelry, sculpture, torah cases, memorials, journals, mezuzahs, and more. He was always drawing, doodling and creating, from morning to very late at night.
Even in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's he was still painting and drawing quite often. Until his stroke (TIA). In the summer of 2006 he had a mild stroke and although physically he is in pretty good shape, he has lost his interest in painting. If I can point to one thing that upsets me the most, this would be it.
Not long ago we were sitting at the dining room table with my mom and I showed dad a large page of his designs for jewelry, logos, monograms, etc. They were unmistakeably Michel creations. His work is very distinctive. I asked dad, "Do you recognize the work?" and he looked at me with a blank stare and said, "no." I told him he did all of them and he replied no again. My heart sank, tears welled in mom's eyes; I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
The work of Michel will live on in many places for many years to come. Perhaps forever. But I'm not sure there will ever be another artist quite like my dad. A great loss in the Jewish art world.
Labels: art, creative, inventive, Judaica
Monday, June 11, 2007
Good Days, Bad Days
The life of an Alzheimer's patient, or more accurately, his caretakers, is marked by Good Days and Bad Days. A good day is one on which dad is cooperative, accomodating, easygoing, or complacent. A bad day is one on which he is uncooperative, argumentative, unwilling or even billigerent. There is no rational reason for the occurance of bad or good days. They are unpredictable. Sometimes he goes from bad to good moments in a flash. It's the nature of the disease.
Sometimes a day starts out good and turns bad. Like last Friday for instance.
Dad goes to adult day care twice a week. We tried a couple of these groups with no success. He didn't seem to want to go, or stay.
Fortunately, to our surprise and mom's delight, the third group she found turned out to be the charm. He goes twice a week and really seems to enjoy it. In fact, mom reports that when she arrives to pick him up, he often wants her to stay.
The group is run by Catholic Charities, which is less significant than the caliber of people they employ. It's the wonderfully empathic and interactive group leaders who make it interesting for the patients. Even with Alzheimer's, or perhaps because of it, it is hard to keep dad's attention more than a half hour but they manage to keep him involved for 4-5 hours each day, twice a week.
Admittedly, it's a lot like daycare for children. They have short attention spans and need to be constantly stimulated. There are many different activities like those you would expect at a kindergarten. Coloring, dancing, singing, games.
I dropped dad off once and met his "teachers." It made me sad to leave him there, feeling a reversal of rolls, dropping my "child" off. My dad is a brilliant man -- how could his life have come to this? But it makes him happy and stimulates him mentally in ways he would not get at home.
Last Friday he went to his group like he usually does, without incident. I'm sure most of the day he was fine. That afternoon mom got a call from the group leader saying he wanted to leave and she should come pick him up. Dad's behavior is totally unpredictable. There's no explanation for why he wanted to leave, he just did. And one thing he has always been is strong willed. Alzheimer's hasn't changed that.
When mom arrived at the church where the daycare is held, dad had already left the building and was a block away, accompanied by one of the social workers. I'm not sure where he thought he was going but I'm sure he knew in his own mind -- probably home.
The following day was what I would call a good day. I visited for most of the afternoon and we went out to lunch, grocery shopping, a hair cut and then home to sign prints. He was cooperative most of the day. Although dad argued that he didn't need a haircut, once we got to the barber shop and he saw Gino, who's been cutting his hair for 15 years, he acquiesced. Familiar faces, voices and locations tend to assuage him.
At home, I got him to sign 100 prints of the new "Love Thy Neighbor" serigraph. This is a special treat because he does not often want to sign, and when he does he will sometimes stop at 50. His signature is very close to his original, and once he gets started, it comes easily for him, but getting him started is not always easy. I have on occasion found myself gently coaxing him for over an hour before giving up.
He will look at his prints, admire them and comment how beautiful they are. I'm pretty certain he recognizes who the artist is, but if I ask he won't say. He just won't sign. Almost as if he feared signing.
So you see, Friday was a good day that became a bad day and Saturday was a good day. His behavior is quite unpredicatable, which is a big part of managing him. If we knew what to anticipate it would be a piece of cake...or not.
Sometimes a day starts out good and turns bad. Like last Friday for instance.
Dad goes to adult day care twice a week. We tried a couple of these groups with no success. He didn't seem to want to go, or stay.
Fortunately, to our surprise and mom's delight, the third group she found turned out to be the charm. He goes twice a week and really seems to enjoy it. In fact, mom reports that when she arrives to pick him up, he often wants her to stay.
The group is run by Catholic Charities, which is less significant than the caliber of people they employ. It's the wonderfully empathic and interactive group leaders who make it interesting for the patients. Even with Alzheimer's, or perhaps because of it, it is hard to keep dad's attention more than a half hour but they manage to keep him involved for 4-5 hours each day, twice a week.
Admittedly, it's a lot like daycare for children. They have short attention spans and need to be constantly stimulated. There are many different activities like those you would expect at a kindergarten. Coloring, dancing, singing, games.
I dropped dad off once and met his "teachers." It made me sad to leave him there, feeling a reversal of rolls, dropping my "child" off. My dad is a brilliant man -- how could his life have come to this? But it makes him happy and stimulates him mentally in ways he would not get at home.
Last Friday he went to his group like he usually does, without incident. I'm sure most of the day he was fine. That afternoon mom got a call from the group leader saying he wanted to leave and she should come pick him up. Dad's behavior is totally unpredictable. There's no explanation for why he wanted to leave, he just did. And one thing he has always been is strong willed. Alzheimer's hasn't changed that.
When mom arrived at the church where the daycare is held, dad had already left the building and was a block away, accompanied by one of the social workers. I'm not sure where he thought he was going but I'm sure he knew in his own mind -- probably home.
The following day was what I would call a good day. I visited for most of the afternoon and we went out to lunch, grocery shopping, a hair cut and then home to sign prints. He was cooperative most of the day. Although dad argued that he didn't need a haircut, once we got to the barber shop and he saw Gino, who's been cutting his hair for 15 years, he acquiesced. Familiar faces, voices and locations tend to assuage him.
At home, I got him to sign 100 prints of the new "Love Thy Neighbor" serigraph. This is a special treat because he does not often want to sign, and when he does he will sometimes stop at 50. His signature is very close to his original, and once he gets started, it comes easily for him, but getting him started is not always easy. I have on occasion found myself gently coaxing him for over an hour before giving up.
He will look at his prints, admire them and comment how beautiful they are. I'm pretty certain he recognizes who the artist is, but if I ask he won't say. He just won't sign. Almost as if he feared signing.
So you see, Friday was a good day that became a bad day and Saturday was a good day. His behavior is quite unpredicatable, which is a big part of managing him. If we knew what to anticipate it would be a piece of cake...or not.
Labels: Alzheimer's, bad days, day care, good days
Friday, May 25, 2007
A Few Words About Mom
Before I get too deep into this I want to say a few words about my mom. This is important to give you perspective. Mom is dad's primary caretaker. She is the one who is with him at home every day and night. She is the one who tends to his every need, makes sure he gets up in the morning, gets fed when he needs to, gets to his daycare group, and countless other things.
What I need to tell you is, my mom is an extraordinary human being. I don't say this just because she does all that she does to make my dad's life comfortable, but rather because she just is. She has been a caretaker her entire life. Not only did she bring up three exceptional children, but her chosen career is nursing in geriatrics. To this day, she continues to go to work at a nursing home twice a week and see to the proper care of hundreds of elderly patients, all the while knowing that each night when she gets home, her "job" starts all over again.
I say all this to give you the flavor for what she goes through as a primary caretaker, and what I see and experience every time I visit. You see, it is hard to imagine living with someone for almost 60 years, looking forward to the "golden years" and then finding yourself in the position of what seems like a nanny.
Every time I visit my heart bleeds for my mom. There is no greater manifestation of the adage "life is not fair" than seeing what my mom has to go through day in and day out. My visit is as much for her, maybe more, as it is for dad. When I (or my brother and sister) visit, we bring with us a much deserved escape from the intensity of 24-hour care. We distract him and allow her a moment of peace, and a real conversation.
I will confess that visiting my dad is emotionally draining, and for me it's just a few hours. Every time I leave I can't help thinking "how does she do it?" And I am filled with sadness that I can't do more to ease her pain. Yes, and I suffer from the Jewish child's guilt syndrome.
Sometimes even a phonecall helps make a difference. Dad can't communicate much on the phone, but I know hearing from his children makes his day just a little happier, which in turn makes mom's a little lighter.
I now plan my week around my visits so that I know at least once a week I can spend time with them, usually on weekends because my new line of work makes weekdays a little more difficult. Usually we go out, sometimes we stay in, but all the times it makes a difference.
Lenny
What I need to tell you is, my mom is an extraordinary human being. I don't say this just because she does all that she does to make my dad's life comfortable, but rather because she just is. She has been a caretaker her entire life. Not only did she bring up three exceptional children, but her chosen career is nursing in geriatrics. To this day, she continues to go to work at a nursing home twice a week and see to the proper care of hundreds of elderly patients, all the while knowing that each night when she gets home, her "job" starts all over again.
What I can say with some confidence is, even though she spent a career caring for the elderly and infirmed, nothing could have prepared her for the stress of caring for a husband with Alzheimer's.
For my entire life my mom has been the counter-balance that has kept my dad from going over the deep end. And let me tell you, that was no easy task. She was his alter-ego, his social planner, his medical advisor, his ground control and his touch with reality. Things are no different today except that her responsibilities are amplified.I say all this to give you the flavor for what she goes through as a primary caretaker, and what I see and experience every time I visit. You see, it is hard to imagine living with someone for almost 60 years, looking forward to the "golden years" and then finding yourself in the position of what seems like a nanny.
Every time I visit my heart bleeds for my mom. There is no greater manifestation of the adage "life is not fair" than seeing what my mom has to go through day in and day out. My visit is as much for her, maybe more, as it is for dad. When I (or my brother and sister) visit, we bring with us a much deserved escape from the intensity of 24-hour care. We distract him and allow her a moment of peace, and a real conversation.
I will confess that visiting my dad is emotionally draining, and for me it's just a few hours. Every time I leave I can't help thinking "how does she do it?" And I am filled with sadness that I can't do more to ease her pain. Yes, and I suffer from the Jewish child's guilt syndrome.
Sometimes even a phonecall helps make a difference. Dad can't communicate much on the phone, but I know hearing from his children makes his day just a little happier, which in turn makes mom's a little lighter.
I now plan my week around my visits so that I know at least once a week I can spend time with them, usually on weekends because my new line of work makes weekdays a little more difficult. Usually we go out, sometimes we stay in, but all the times it makes a difference.
Lenny
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Welcome to My Blog
Hi and welcome to my blog. I decided a long time ago that I would start this blog but it took me three years to get started, and get the courage to make some of my thoughts public. Here is my story...
My name is Lenny and this is about my dad. He is 80 years old and was diagnosed with Alzheimer's about 7 years ago. Of course, back then the best they could say was "we think it's Alzheimer's but there is no definitive test... except an autopsy." Whatever it was, we knew his memory was declining and we could hardly imagine what the future held.
You see, no matter how much you read and how much people tell you, there is no way to emotionally prepare yourself for the ravages of dimentia.
Michel, my dad, is, or should I say was, a brilliant man. He was an accomplished artist, an extraordinary creative director, an inventor, creator, orator, writer and humanitarian. He accomplished more in his life and career than most do in five lifetimes. And when this horrible disease struck he was far from completing his life works. He used to say he had to live to 120 just to do everything he wanted to do (and he was sure God would let him).
I was living in Chicago when we started seeing the symptons of dimentia such as forgetting events and names, getting lost while driving and difficulty following along in conversations. It was easy to say that these were normal signs of aging but over time it became obvious they were not "normal."
Three years ago I decided to move back to the NY area to spend more time with dad, and although I am grateful that I had two good years with him, I could not have predicted how much his illness would affect me personally. It has been the hardest three years of my life and I know the worst is yet to come.
For a long time after moving back I tried to see him on a very regular basis, mostly on Wednesdays, hence the title of my blog. I would do weekends with mom and dad, but Wednesdays were our day alone. I'd take him out to visit old friends, see movies, shop for art supplies, and of course, lunch, which he so much enjoyed. These were outings that I will always cherish, as they were the last that I will remember dad as himself, with so much to share and never a moment of silence.
I did my best to journal most of our days out, at least what I could remember when I returned home. I have over 100 pages of memories from those two years, September 2004 to July 2006, when dad suffered a minor stroke leaving him with aphasia (loss of his ability to produce language).
As I continue to blog my thoughts in the future, I will share "flashbacks" from my journal because I feel that there is so much to offer. For those who happen upon this blog and have similar experiences that you wish to share, I welcome your comments.
For now, I sign out with a final (not necessarily original) thought: Live every day to its fullest, and spend time with those who are important to you, because you never know when that time will run short.
Lenny
My name is Lenny and this is about my dad. He is 80 years old and was diagnosed with Alzheimer's about 7 years ago. Of course, back then the best they could say was "we think it's Alzheimer's but there is no definitive test... except an autopsy." Whatever it was, we knew his memory was declining and we could hardly imagine what the future held.
You see, no matter how much you read and how much people tell you, there is no way to emotionally prepare yourself for the ravages of dimentia.
Michel, my dad, is, or should I say was, a brilliant man. He was an accomplished artist, an extraordinary creative director, an inventor, creator, orator, writer and humanitarian. He accomplished more in his life and career than most do in five lifetimes. And when this horrible disease struck he was far from completing his life works. He used to say he had to live to 120 just to do everything he wanted to do (and he was sure God would let him).
I was living in Chicago when we started seeing the symptons of dimentia such as forgetting events and names, getting lost while driving and difficulty following along in conversations. It was easy to say that these were normal signs of aging but over time it became obvious they were not "normal."
Three years ago I decided to move back to the NY area to spend more time with dad, and although I am grateful that I had two good years with him, I could not have predicted how much his illness would affect me personally. It has been the hardest three years of my life and I know the worst is yet to come.
For a long time after moving back I tried to see him on a very regular basis, mostly on Wednesdays, hence the title of my blog. I would do weekends with mom and dad, but Wednesdays were our day alone. I'd take him out to visit old friends, see movies, shop for art supplies, and of course, lunch, which he so much enjoyed. These were outings that I will always cherish, as they were the last that I will remember dad as himself, with so much to share and never a moment of silence.
I did my best to journal most of our days out, at least what I could remember when I returned home. I have over 100 pages of memories from those two years, September 2004 to July 2006, when dad suffered a minor stroke leaving him with aphasia (loss of his ability to produce language).
As I continue to blog my thoughts in the future, I will share "flashbacks" from my journal because I feel that there is so much to offer. For those who happen upon this blog and have similar experiences that you wish to share, I welcome your comments.
For now, I sign out with a final (not necessarily original) thought: Live every day to its fullest, and spend time with those who are important to you, because you never know when that time will run short.
Lenny
