The hardest thing my family does each week

[Zorro]

Dementia and grief have complicated my decades-long relationship with my stepfather. We visit a lot — and not enough.

He is usually slumped in his wheelchair, staring at the table in front of him. Sometimes he’s looking ahead, at the movie or variety show on the big-screen TV — typically something from the 1950s or ’60s, which I guess is what the folks running the memory-care unit think Michael and the other residents will find comforting. I often glance at the screen and say a silent prayer that the entertainment will be better if and when I need a place like this.

My husband and kids and I try to see Michael once a week, which, given our busy schedules and packed weekends, feels like a lot and also not nearly enough. With occasional exceptions, we are the only visitors he gets, so once a week feels like nothing. But visiting Michael is one of the hardest things we do. He barely speaks, giving short answers to easy questions like, “What’s my name” or “Where did you grow up?” but not a lot more. They say that it helps people with dementia to be reminded of their past, when their brains were healthy. Tap into long-term memories. But we can’t do that. Because there’s only one thing that Michael and I really share — my mother — and for him, talking about her is just too painful.

We aren’t very good at this and yet, we are what he has, so we try.

My mother fell deeply in love when I was in high school, and that love eventually carried her to Honolulu, where Michael, who would become her second husband, was a sociology professor at the University of Hawaii. Michael had moved to Honolulu after earning his PhD from Harvard and planned to stay for just a year or so. But he fell for the place and later, so did my mom. The year I finished college, she sold the house my sister and I had grown up in and moved to Hawaii to start a new life.

My mom was living thousands of miles away from me, but she was a committed user of the telephone, and we would talk at least once a week. Sometimes when I phoned her, Michael would answer. I liked Michael, a lot, and I’m pretty sure he liked me, too, but unlike my mom, he wasn’t much for the telephone. I’d say hello and ask how he was, and after a quick hello, his response was always the same: “I’ll get your mom!”

https://wapo.st/42GH281

[Hope22]

1. Thank you for this Zorro.

It brings back so many memories of caring for my sister. Life is so full of hard things. Sending love out to all of the caregivers who love unconditionally and go on for as long as it takes. Love to you!💗🙏🏼