May 30, 2013
It’s difficult to predict how many more walks my father and I will take together. It could be a hundred …. and it could be only one. Dementia of any kind is such a puzzle, and totally unpredictable.
Dad appeared to be in another world today, distant, unengaged. Though he had a great deal of difficulty getting out of his chair. Once he was on his feet, he moved slowly……. very s-l-o-w-ly, but well-balanced and cautious. His standard remarks were left unsaid. He didn’t glance at the sky until I mentioned it to him. He didn’t ask about my family, or how I’ve been, or where we were going. He voiced only one concern.
“I don’t need both of those, do I?”
The opportunity to ask that same question came up at least six times before we headed to the herb garden at Lord Stirling Park. I continued to simplify my answer until I ended up with.
“Either both or a walker, Dad.”
He surprised me the last time by saying, “Oh, I pulled you down, didn’t I?”
Months ago I had stopped mentioning the episode of his falling and yanking me down beside him on the ground. It had only distressed him to think that he might have hurt me. Perhaps memories continue to be made, only to be called into action at random.
I handed Dad his green sketchbook and pencil as we sat side by side in the herb garden. As usual, he began reading his previous poems. I assumed that he was avoiding writing something new. Because of his extreme silence and lack of response to anything we passed on the way to the park, I decided to see what would happen if I didn’t remind him to write a new poem. I began to draw….
No more than five minutes passed before Dad settled in and put pencil to paper! He didn’t even glance around at his surroundings. He bent his head and focused on the words that poured from his pencil. I suppose he doesn’t need to look around anymore to know what he would see. He feels the air on his cheeks and he knows he is outdoors.
On a Bench in the Park, Chris and Dad
The solid blue sky
Hovers overhead
While one tiny bird
Chirps a nice tune
The song of the bird
Is the only sound.
The leaves wave
But no breeze is heard.
That’s about all
There is to be said.
Enjoy the quietness
There is to be had.
I checked for the date
But my computer is dead.
So we’ll enjoy the silence
That is to be had.
June 30, 2014
When Dad’s phone appeared to be dead, he asked me the date. I told him it was June 30th (my mistake…. it was still May). For more than a year now he has thought it is 2014. I was puzzled by his phone being dead since he had unplugged it from the charger right before we left Chelsea. His phone was charged. He just forgot how to turn it on.
Fortunately the bugs are not out yet at Lord Stirling Park. We had a lovely, silent, s-l-o-w walk along the somewhat soggy paths. Dad watched his feet the whole time, never looking up to the sky or out into the marshes. It appeared that moving one foot in front of the other demanded all of his attention. I’m glad I captured him square dancing a couple of weeks ago.
We took a short path, but not the shortest. I spotted a bench and asked if he wanted to rest. He shook his head and kept walking. The day had grown quite warm and I feared Dad might overheat. He had refused to change into his shorts, insisting that he would be fine in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
“Big sips, Dad, not tiny mouth sips.”
Each time Dad handed the water bottle back to me the water level looked about the same.
The trail brought us back to the herb garden where I found a bench in the shade of a grove of trees. Out came the green sketchbook and pencil. Again Dad read a few of his previous poems, and then set his mind to writing …. without any coaxing or coercing from me!
At a Later Date, Another Stroll in the Park
It’s quite warm.
Sweat runs down my right cheek.
Tiny birds flitter by.
A spider crawls across the page.
Tree’s leaves
Block the rays
Making it cool
To sit on the park bench
Resting the legs, —
Soothing the soul.
On occasion I’m asked why I draw rusty pipes, run-down shacks, lopsided trees and eaten leaves. Why not draw lovely, new houses and perfectly shaped trees and leaves?
“Because real life is never perfect, except in its imperfectness, in its struggle and celebration of survival.”
I remember my first job, picking strawberries at Johnson’s Farm when I was fourteen. I ended up being hired to work at the fruit stand where I sold the berries picked fresh each morning. Most people wanted the large, perfectly shaped strawberries. I sold them the big, beautiful berries wearing a smile on my face. They were practically tasteless, beauty without flavor. I knew that the most delicious berries, the odd-looking little runts called “Sparkles” were the sweetest, most delicious of all the varieties and they would be the ones that hadn’t sold at the end of the day. The Johnsons and I would be feasting on Sparkles for dessert after supper. Some of the best moments are disguised by imperfections.
In the end, my walks with Dad will be among the many highlights of my life. Fast or s-l-o-w, we walk together, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Each step is so precious.
You do know it’s May, right? LOL. Always enjoy your walks. They are important. And his poems continue to inspire. Thanks.
Thanks Chris, I enjoyed the story, as I always do. Dolly
Beautiful ! Jane
I especially loved Dad’s second poem. He’s paying attention to what’s happening IN THE MOMENT, something he struggled with in his more cognizant past, when it seemed he was often either reflecting on the past or anticipating the next turn in the conversation or a future event. Chris, through your blogs we’re all learning so much. Thank you!
Chris, It is heart-warming to read about your walk with Dad. I love his first poem. It is a perfect description of his experience in the moment AND his overall serenity in his current condition, especially the final 2 lines:
The solid blue sky
Hovers overhead
While one tiny bird
Chirps a nice tune
The song of the bird
Is the only sound.
The leaves wave
But no breeze is heard.
That’s about all
There is to be said.
Enjoy the quietness
There is to be had.
I checked for the date
But my computer is dead.
So we’ll enjoy the silence
That is to be had.
I’m enjoying the pieces about your dad, also your drawings–thamks for posting.
Thank you for your kind words.