The Bookshelves in His Mind Tipped Over

Experiences of the caretaker of a demented elderly, translated…

As I thumbed across, “No Need to Fear the Rain, I Have an Oversize Head”, the writer wrote about how he’d taken his own father walked around inside the house at night, told him that it’s now dark out, and they can’t go out, to that point, I’d, started crying.

The final year of my father’s life, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, commonly known as dementia, started having cognitive difficulties.  After he’d taken a bath, he’d come downstairs, told me, “Jen-Jen, you’re going off to work early?”, I’d smiled and replied, “Yeah, didn’t you always say, that the early birds get the worms?  And how the bosses liked workers who showed up early to the office?”

not my photo…

His immediate memories started deteriorating, as he’d told me he wanted to go to the bathrooms, but, after I’d led him to the toilet, he’d stood there, dumbfounded, not knowing what he was doing there, or, he’d, fallen asleep, as he had a bowl of food still in his hands, he’d also forgotten how to brush his teeth, wash his face, or shave his chins, he’s now, lost, in a world I can’t, find my way into.

Late one evening, I couldn’t sleep, I went downstairs to see him, he was, dressed up in his army uniform, sat, in the living room without any light, tying his shoes, as he saw me, he’d said, “I’m getting a trim, the war’s over, and mom is still waiting back home for me, Shui-Yun (my dad’s first wife) is also waiting.  I’d been gone too long, I need to, go home now.”  Grandma had long become, a small pile of dirt on the hills back home, and, my father’s first wife was already, forced to marry another, and, my father, bald, with his hands, kept, fighting in that war, with his own, shoelaces.

this, is what memory loss looks like…

The doctor said, that the memories in the mind are like bookshelves, and there are, all the already read-through volumes, and, for those with dementia, those books on the shelves, they’ll start to fall off one by one, and once the books fell, the memories saved inside the books would get severed from the person.  So, my father’s memories became, disconnected, like his own calling in life, then, he just, kept, doing it over, over, over again, to make his own life meaningful………and, going home, was the promise he’d made to his own mother, his wife, that he’d carried, for his, entire life.

He’d become, a big baby now, couldn’t bathe himself, or feed himself either, couldn’t go out alone, needed to be in adult diapers, but he is, still, my beloved dad, the dad who was kind, gentle, and even-tempered, who’d, carried me on his back as he took me to see the fireflies, plucked those fruits from the trees, someone who’d taught me how to draw.

not my picture still…

After the harvest in autumn, the fields were planted with flowers, and, as the flowers bloomed, I’d take my dad by the hand, to see that field of dark and light yellow, all of a sudden, he’d announced, “My eldest and second eldest wanted to take me fishing in the creek, would you like to go too?  It’s so very fun”.  “Sure!  I loved playing in the waters.”  Back when I was younger, you’d taken me to Daja Creek to catch the fish and the shrimps.”  “Okay, let’s, hurry up!”, and, all of a sudden, that playful look overcame his face, and his dimples showed, it’d made me, stare.

His childhood had, met up with mine, my dad was so cute when he was still a child.

So, these, are the moments, when the demented elderly becomes THE child, because the demented individual is drifting between the states of consciousness, and, s/he may have become so detached from reality, that s/he only lives, in her/his own world, the world s/he grew up in, the world s/he is most familiar with, her/his childhood years!