Dad has a difficult time finding the right words most times. “It’s just not coming to me…”, so often mutters within his struggling conversations with me. Questions or comments in his direction trigger this reply a lot.
This is a symptom of the underlying disease of dementia, of course. Patience rules the moments. I try to get information. “How was your day?”. “Tell me about how you feel now.”. “Are you glad to get out for a little bit?”. I don’t know – even after years – if these are good, or appropriate, questions? All I want to do is stay connected to him as long as I can.
As I struggle to find connecting questions on this journey with dad, I find my inner voice saying, as well, … “it’s not coming to me”. What’s right and proper? A brain, aware and alert most of the time, finds it difficult to locate a quizicle query … an interesting issue to trigger dad’s synaptic senses.
This, probably, is a common frustration for those in my circle of known, and unknown, friends holding mental hands with dementia suffering loved ones. Has to be common? Communication. Conversation. What was once normal, everyday who, where, and why, … is now one way remembrances as blank stares and misplaced whats disguised as whos dominate discussions.
Yet, we love them the same. Even more, I would argue.
My point of all this is … why write it? Why briefly point out dad’s unique, but common, response restraint? Problem finding the right words – the correct, perfect reply.
I know my dad. He’s a perfectionist. Even with his life’s setback now, this trait is still deeply embedded. I do believe he may want to answer the best way he can. “It” may just be that perfect word he can’t process anymore. That perfect word isn’t coming to him.
A son, laughingly must admit, carries the same gene … not to a fault, however. I allow some things to slip by.
What couldn’t get by me was that perfect word this evening. Truly, “it wasn’t”, yes, “coming to me”. This was a moment I felt a connection to dad and he wasn’t even around. Ironically, we planned on his attendance, but scheduling prevented it.
Simply stated, a guest pastor was in attendance at our evening service. I had a moment beforehand to mention how much I enjoyed his remarks at a funeral a few weeks past. As the organist at many a funerals, I heard many eulogies. At this particular service, his words were, well, ….
… and here’s where I got stuck. The pastor and I could have easily been dad and I mired in traffic for a few awkward moments -with a few glaring differences, of course. No dad and son. One pastor and organist. Both, supposedly of sound mind.
However, still one blankly staring back at his friendly guest pastor thinking, “it’s not coming to me..” What’s the proper and right word to compliment a pastor on his exceptional message on the death of a beloved friend, pastor to us all?
As I spoke a few wiggly words, none seemed appropriate. Each worse than one prior. The pastor’s kind, but confused smiles confirmed my suspicions. It was a “good” message? I “enjoyed’ what you said? None lifted itself on angel’s wings, for sure. “Nice job”? As the few minutes swooped into mild embarrassment, we parted ways with no damage done. We’ve been friends a long time. He knows … I know. A little lighthearted banter before worship in his mind.
For me, not so much.
A chance to be dad. To understand how he must be. “Be” in a moment where the right word/phrase isn’t processing. I can’t imagine living in that space 24/7 … especially when in a car being asked questions you KNOW you should be able to answer … just can’t find the words. Or, remember.
It’s been eight hours now. You know, I STILL don’t know what, exactly, to say. It was a lovely funeral. Of all memorials I’ve played, his words are in the top 10%. This is what I ended up saying to him.
That’ll have to suffice. I’m not happy with it. Doesn’t seem enough. What he said about our dear friend was amazing, poignant, caring, and compassionate. With those, I am not satisfied. They’re not what I want to say.
Maybe dad has it right, after all. It may be best to just admit, “it’s not coming to me”, and move on.
Well, in any case, having that connection moment with dad was kinda cool. Dementia has its unique set of problems. It’s nice to know we can share these little problems together.
Together in spirit, that is.
Next time in the car, in a grocery store, or at one of his favorite ice cream stops, … we’ll have another, “it’s not coming to me” moment in person.
It’s anyone’s guess as to which one of us will be waiting for a reply. All good as long as the connection is maintained.
That’s the blessing in all of this.
DougHugs 