No regrets: a journey with Alzheimer's

Christian Century, Nov 1, 2003 by Daphne Simpkins

I WOKE UP one morning feeling like I wanted a party. I needed party' supplies: toilet paper, napkins, paper towels, detergent, Clorox and chocolate. I had the money. I had the time. I had a car. But I had my Daddy. I still wanted a party! I wanted to go to Kmart!

I took an appraising look at him. He was standing and sitting today. He had just gone to the bathroom. That could hold him an hour. Kmart wasn't far from here, just across town in the parallel universe where people who are considered not crazy meet to shop. God, can we please go to Kmart?

As if reading my mind, Daddy said, "I want to go for a ride."

"Me, too. Where do you want to go?" l asked.

"Anywhere you want to go," he answered agreeably.

"Kmart?'" I asked.

"Okay, Grandmama."

I was grandmother today. So be it. "Let's go," I said, as I blocked Daddy's view of the doorknob, because if he ever gets hold of one, he won't let go.

Safely past the temptation of a round, shiny object, we were out the front door, where the sun was shining. Birds were singing.

I suddenly remembered something important: Like God, beauty is. I remembered that beauty arises from symmetry. Usually this orderly arrangement of the parts of a whole produces the effect of beauty. As I looked at my father, my understanding of beauty suddenly expanded to encompass his chaos and beauty's dependence upon it for definition. Although opposites, each has inherent in it the power to break the human heart.

While holding the car door open for Daddy, I imagined falling on my face in the dirt and giving thanks to God for beauty and for my daddy, who had, in this very moment, helped me experience the knowledge of God's beauty differently. Worshiping God in my spirit while still performing physical work is a new benefit of living in this promised land.

I now abide in a variety of realities, moving in and out of them as fluidly as Daddy's hallucinations come and go. I praised God for this flexibility of my mind to move in concert with Daddy's, sending an unspoken prayer that though I can and do adapt to chaos, I preferred not to embody it myself. As this felt like a betrayal of my dear daddy, I sent an apology" his way, and he stuffed at me. I was glad to be alive.

I psyched myself up to talk Daddy into getting in the car. But a miracle happened, and I didn't even ask for it. Daddy just got in the ear. Thank you, Jesus.

Oh, we had the best time driving to Kmart. Out of joy I was singing in my heart on my way to pick up party supplies, and suddenly Daddy began to sing the same song playing inside of me. We sang a duet: Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of his Spirit, washed in his blood. This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long; this is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the clay long.

I had no rational explanation for praising God while Daddy was in this kind of shape. I knew only that I could not quench the gratitude I felt for my daddy beside me--and in that moment, Daddy even sounded like his old self. How could I make this happen again? I tabled my question as I turned into Kmart's parking lot. Daddy fumbled with the door, and I helped him open it. Then we were standing together outside in a public place, and his pants were not wet. Glory to God.

He took my hand. "Where are we going, Mother?"

Kmart looked golden, shining in the morning dew, an oasis of riches. They had toilet paper and soap in there. As Daddy and I navigated the traffic, I stole a look at him. He was walking, walking, head up--sort of. The doors were the sliding electric kind--not a doorknob on them! They opened for--us a mysterious phenomenon that I did not try to explain to Daddy, who would have liked to repeat this pleasure.

I retrieved a shopping cart and placed Dad's hands upon it. "Thataway."

Using the cart as a walker, he sprinted fleet-of-foot while I pretended I was on Supermarket Sweep. Up and down the aisles we went very last, with Daddy setting a last, erratic pace. Sometimes his tempo drove me crazy, but today I thought it was hilarious. Laughing, I piled the buggy high with pure luxury items. We would have Kleenex again. Paper plates. I stacked 500 coffee filters on top. God, you are merciful. Ohhhhh, they had candy here! Chocolate Hershey bars. I moaned as if I were being reunited with an old, passionate lover who could really kiss. Daddy and I grinned over the Hershey bars, and I said, "Party time!"

We spent 20 whole minutes in paradise and then proceeded to the checkout, where we only had to wait behind one buggy--another miracle. Two women belonged to it, and they were laughing and talking in a British accent. Their voices brought back Wordsworth's view of daily life with his sister Dorothy, who went crazy on him: For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

"Promise you'll kill me if I ever get very sick," one of the British ladies asked her friend.