“Hey, son, good to see you!”
When I walked into Dad’s room at the Alzheimer’s care center north of Cincinnati recently, that’s the response I was hoping for and got. It meant Dad was in a good place. He was having a good day. He remembered me.
I make the trip each fall during the week when my father is at the facility. His caregiving wife checks him in so she can get a much needed respite. The staff is good to him but he’s alone in his room much of the time. He sometimes wakes up wondering where he is, why he’s there, and is everything all right. I like to be there to answer those questions and reassure him.
Last year, following a two-hour discussion with him during a holiday family dinner, he leaned over toward me and gently asked, “Are you my son?” That was a gut punch, for sure, not because I was hurt but rather because it reminded me of the slow toll this insidious disease was taking on him. The decorated war hero who once flew our nation’s largest military aircraft, scuba dived in the Bahamas, and was the life of any party, has been robbed of his short term memory and ability to think clearly. I mourn his decline.
I always ask Dad what I can get for him or what he would like to do. Last year, we went bowling and he beat me one game. It was a great moment, and I soon learned that dementia hadn’t robbed him of the ability to trash talk. The next day, I sat by his bed and said, “Dad, you have money in the bank. Is there anything I can get you? Do you want to take a trip somewhere? Say the word and I’ll make it happen.” He smiled and thought for a minute.
“Well, there is one thing.”
“Good, what is it?”
“I’d love a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate milk.”
“You got it, Dad.”
Another great moment. I fulfilled his request and spent the rest of the evening reflecting on Paul’s words in Philippians 4:11-12: “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances… I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” Dad may be losing his mind but not his ability to be thankful. He tells me regularly what a blessed life he has had.
Back to my recent visit… I sat by Dad’s bed at the care center and asked if he wanted to go outside for a walk. Without considering he was 88 years old and his son was an avid hiker, he said yes. Twenty minutes later, we were shuffling along the forested Great Oaks Trail in nearby Winton Woods. With each of his labored breaths, I feared I had made a poor decision in bringing him there. But we made the .6-mile, hilly journey along a scenic creek. He was exhausted but proud of himself for covering that much ground. Another great moment. We shared a pizza and headed back to the facility, where he napped for three hours.
The following morning, I sat by Dad’s bedside and asked him about the hike. He didn’t remember it. Dementia had once again erased his hard drive overnight. Dementia sucks.
On the long drive home to Missouri, I thought about moments and memories.
A moment is defined as “a very brief period of time” and also “importance.” Dad still has moments. His wife Gail, my sisters, and I go to great lengths to give him “good, important, brief periods of time.” Whether we’re bowling, hitting a bucket of golf balls, or breaking bread, Dad relishes these precious moments with family.
But, for him, those moments no longer convert to memories. A memory is “something remembered from the past; a recollection.” Dad still has several memories from long ago—still remembers details from some of his combat missions in Vietnam. But he probably can’t tell you what happened this morning, yesterday, or a month ago. Try as he might, he just can’t. While I will carry our bowling matches and grilled cheese and chocolate milk feasts with me—as memories—until the day I die, for Dad they were just moments. Important, brief periods of time that were enjoyed while they happened but not beyond that.
When I shared my thoughts on moments versus memories with my wife, Janet, she reminded me that it’s the same thing with our interactions with our grandchildren. For example, over the past month, we’ve had several fun and amazing experiences with Bradford, our grand who just turned two. We rode the train and marveled at hundreds of animals at the zoo. We sang Happy Birthday to him and saw the joy on his face as he opened presents. We tossed more than a few rocks in our local creek. Bradford, Janet, and I smiled and giggled as we made memories. Well, sort of. As with my dad, these were really just great moments for Bradford. He’s not yet at the point of locking them into memories the way that Janet and I have already done.
And you know what? That’s okay. There is goodness in creating a fun, exciting moment for a family member, friend, or even a stranger, even if the “moment” is all it will ever be for that person.
Someone may need to hear this: If you’re visiting a parent with dementia, strive to give them a happy moment. If you’re feeding an infant child or grandchild, enjoy the satisfying burp they give back to you. If you’re caregiving a severely disabled, special needs child or adult, cherish the single smile in the single moment. If they are unable to smile, know that they are storing up those smiles to unleash in heaven one day. And if you’re singing songs with a Bible classroom full of 2 and 3-year-olds, sing loud enough for the entire church to hear. That these fine moments may only convert to lasting memories for you is okay—be thankful for that.
Precious memories are beautiful gifts from God.
But so are precious moments.
Steve, I am the old Ed Tritschler Terri Taylor is my oldest daughter.
I really enjoyed your thoughts on Memories and Moments.
I try hard to live 1Yhess5 16-18. Your thoughts helped me start my day full of joy and made me feel thankful that at 87 I still have memory and certainly enjoy moments.
In His Love
Ed
Hello, Mr. Tritchler! Thank you for your comments. I remember Joe and Terri fondly from our time on the other side of the river. Good people. So glad to hear you’re still making moments and memories at 87!
Thank you for sharing . My husband has Parkinsons and Dementia. Reading your words brought tears to my eyes. I always admired your dad. Prayers for him and for you. I am my husband’s caregiver! We will celebrate our 55 wedding anniversary in January. I praise God daily for the time I have left with him. Every moment is definitely precious. God Bless you and your dad.
Linda, congratulations on your upcoming 55th wedding anniversary! That is rare and special milestone. And thanks for your work as a caregiver. I admire folks who didn’t just make “for better or for worse” wedding vows, but actually follow through, even in hard times. Good on you! Just prayed for you and your husband.
I love your Blog Steve. I especially love the ones where you describe your interactions with Family. I spent Saturday with my Dad and you know that our struggles are different, but they are also similar. One difference is that my father is more impressed with his hospice chaplain having a masters degree than he is with the many souls my preachers have brought to Christ. Keep writing, teaching, and inspiring us with your wonderful words and I am so privileged to call you Brother!
Hey Brother Tim, thanks so much for that feedback. Means a lot coming from a friend like you. So glad that you are still able to spend time with your dad. You won’t regret that. Love you Brother!
Thanks for sharing Steve – you are dementia is a terrible disease. We do have to enjoy the moments we make with the kids and grandkids.
Hey Ron, so glad you’re still able to have those moments with the kids and grands. Seems like so many people pursue happiness through wealth–bigger houses, fancy cars, lots of toys. But I’m finding I’ve never been happier than just hanging out with my kids and grandkids–investing in their lives.
Steve, I appreciate your writings so much.
I just got home late last night, after a trip to Texas, where we buried my Dad on Saturday. He passed into the arms of Jesus on Thursday, after battling Alzheimers for the last 10 years.
The memories I have of the moments we shared are treasures.
So sorry to hear about your dad passing, Cindy. Praying for comfort for you and your family. I can’t imagine the joy in heaven when a faithful Christian with Alzheimers arrives and is made new and whole. What a celebration! Until you meet him again, cling to those memories!
Good read on a hard topic. I like to think about helping someone “hold their space”. And also, even if the person can’t remember what you did together, you know you made a difference in their day. It’s so important to visit even if the person won’t remember. You’re a good son.
Hey Beth, I love the idea of helping them “hold their space.” That’s a beautiful thought. Hope you are doing well.
Amen, 🤗👏😘🙏
I really enjoyed this. Thanks for sharing .
Thanks for that feedback, Brother.
Appreciate your explanation of what dementia is truly like. My sweet mother lived it. It was sad to watch this talented, intelligent person live in a fog that lifted only briefly and lifted less and less frequently as time went on. We had our moments.
Hey Miss Lana, watching the decline is sad indeed. My mom had cancer rather than dementia, but her 7-month journey from diagnosis to death was so painful to watch. About halfway, I went from praying for God to heal her to praying for God to take her. I cherish the memories of her and think about her all the time.
As always, love and enjoy your writings.
Hey, Karen, thanks for that feedback! Hope you are doing well.
Hi Mr. Johnson,
This was wonderful !
Moments with our loved ones are so special and often gone too fast- even when we do remember them.
This was an absolutely wonderful read and anyone who has had a loved one with dementia or Alzheimer’s can certainly appreciate your words
Hello, Mrs. Wellons, I appreciate that feedback so much. I’ve heard from a lof of people who relate to my story because their family has been impacted by someone with dementia or Alzheimer’s. I’m definitely clinging to each moment I share with my dad. Thanks again.
Amazing Steve. This article will stay with me for more than a moment. I am thankful for the reminder of the importance of moments. Much needed this morning.
Thanks, Aunt Bec! I admire your diligence in caring for special needs people your entire life. Your reward will be great!