Party at Pastor Mau's
Pastor Mau invited my parents, Tiff's parents, and Tiff and me to a homecoming reception for his son and daughter-in-law in celebration of the newlyweds' one year anniversary and recent pregnancy. Two other couples were also in attendance - one other couple (around our parents' age) from the congregation and Mrs. Mau's co-worker and guest.
I arrived with Tiff and her family. We walked in through the garage (where Pastor Mau nestles stashes of wood to fuel his creativity). My dad and the other guests were standing in the kitchen, visibly adjacent to the garage. Dad ran over:
"Hey, guys. It's so good to see you." With a trending blankish stare conveying he wasn't really sure when the last time he saw us but progressively glimmering bright that he doesn't even care. He's accelerating in his appreciation for the moment "now". I sense he's becoming less aware of his disease but that he's growing much happier... enjoying as many fresh new nows as he feels comfortable to.
Granted yes, one day he won't be able to enjoy many nows at all. And he won't be able to live out new ones. Eventually his nows will be bed-ridden and clueless as to who's standing in the room.
But that's for neither here for now. But I do know this. That fate will surely be upon us, it's that and that's it. When I visualize that reality, I see it. There's really no emotion to it, the closer to the reality of it. It's an event. An event that happens to trigger a series of negative emotions. But those emotions will come at a certain time. (Sudden death must be the most difficult to cope with. All the emotional loose-ends frayed beyond your capacity of understanding. You had no clue this was coming at you head-first, and all the while you were totally unaware. An emotional and personal disaster.)
In recent years, I began experiencing the pain of not having been close with my dad as a child. I had always rationalized it off. "He was at the peak of his career." "He was so tired from work, he slept on the couch most nights. Usually in his underwear."
"We had dinner as a family." For the majority of my memorable childhood, we were essentially a one child family. (My sister was at college in the days before email, IM, or the Internet for that matter.) The typical non-holiday dinners squarely did not consist of much joking, giggling, smiles, or flitty conversation. As best as I can recall, we sat at the table and quietly ate the homecooked meals with the occassional argument over hiccups in our home's "renovation years" or something about church or whatever. I'm sure there were good things too. But they were either out-balanced or my mind is out-balancing them in recollection.
Times were tough at Strober King in the late 80s as the company grappled with CEO Rick Strober's sudden and mysterious death (it was ruled a suicide but inconclusive enough to rule-out homicide).
By the early 90s, I was in high school, Strober King was gearing up to be sold, and my dad was eyeing the prospects of a million-dollar retirement.
(Such are the Alzheimerist tangents I encounter.) The point is his Nows were filled with miserable emotions. He was miserable. Now his nows are enjoyable. He's literally having the time of his life. I want to be a part of that. The most important lesson it teaches me is identifying the truth of the nows.
So I saw my dad. He looked great. His distinguished silver hair was well groomed and looked freshly cut. He was wearing a light cashmere sweater tucked into black trousers. And he was smiling wide.
My dad blurts excitedly "Did you hear about it all?"
Dad told us about Zack's running spree. How he had busted loose in the house, running about on his own like a wild man. But Pop-Pop (my dad's grandfather epithet) caught him and it was ok.
As the evening progressed, my dad shared with many of the guests his encounters with the Snoring-kind. As the story goes, Mom's snoring keeps him up at night so he goes downstairs to watch TV or ride the exercise machine, you know the one he has downstairs.
She snores so loud: "GNAUUUUCGK- GNAUCGK-GNAUCGK". hehe-hehe-he, "GNAUUCGK-GNAUCK". But don't tell Ann, she'll get mad at me for saying it.
"About what John, my snoring?", Mom chirps in. "Oh that's one of your favorites. But I realized about 10 years ago that I do snore. I was sitting in the chair and noticed this gurgling...."
Sporadic Dance Sessions
My dad stayed true to his dancing commitments. Several times he unleashed one of his snazzy dance routines, which consisted of varying combinations of "The One-Leg's Missing Dance", the "Clap Your Hands with Your Feet Spread Wide, Jump Around as Close to 360 Degrees as Possible and Fudge the Rest with Bright Wide Open Eyes and Mouth Gaping Smile, Clap Your Hands and Say Something Witty such as 'How'd Ya Like that One?' Dance", and the elusively popular "Grab a Girl and Dance: But Don't Grope Dance".