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Caregivers are heroes
every single day

My father loved fishing. I still remember how he built a boat from scratch. He took a plan out of a book, bought the materials and, working on weekends and after work in the evenings, he constructed what would later be christened "The Debbie." I remember how Mom, Dad, aunties and uncles took turns going out fishing every weekend. And the feast we enjoyed afterward!

Dad took pride in his woodworking skills. He loved just hanging out in the workshop he built which, over time, became equipped with every tool a carpenter dreamed of having. He could make anything, from lamps to bookshelves, cabinets to Japanese tansus. And he did it well enough that for a time his Japanese-style lamps were sold in a local store.

Our yard was always well maintained, the pokey Japanese zoysia grass always kept low and green. For a long time, weeds did not have a chance in our yard. These are the things that I associate with Dad. These are the things that I remember him to be.

A year and a half ago, Dad was diagnosed with dementia, which has since progressed to the moderate to severe stage. Doctors warn that Alzheimer's disease is in the near future. Dad, who once enjoyed so much of life, now spends most of his waking time in front of the TV watching everything from war stories to dog rescues. When he's not in front of the television, he sleeps. Moving from space to space, with bathroom trips in between and the usual meal times at the kitchen counter, this is what dementia has done to my father.

Memories and thinking processes we take for granted are almost nonexistent for him. This accounts for his constant repetitive questioning and comments, and inability to recall people's names. He's at a complete loss when standing in front of the microwave he's used a hundred times before, or staring at a flat tire and not knowing where to begin after having made his living fixing cars.

It is heart-wrenching to watch Mom patiently telling him which medication to take before breakfast, just one scenario repeated every day. A knot forms in my chest whenever Mom tells me how getting around our neighborhood confuses him. Without her, he would surely get lost. He has outbursts of anger that are always directed at Mom and, for some reason, never at me. We are told this is common with dementia patients, that it is a result of the extreme frustration they feel inside. And through all this horror, Mom stays by his side, caring for him and making sure he's safe.

My mother amazes me. This woman, who throughout her life has endured several major surgeries, breast cancer, and who walks around with a pacemaker in her chest, has now taken on the biggest challenge of her life: being a caregiver.

If all of this is hard for me, I know it is a hundred times harder for Mom. I don't know how she does it, but I do know it is taking its toll on her health, emotions and spirit. For this reason, I have made it a point to be her caregiver, taking her on shopping trips to get her out of the house, or to lunch, so she can have someone wait on her for a change, and preparing meals for her so she doesn't have to cook. Yet it isn't enough. As the dementia progresses, life has become more taxing, more draining, more frustrating. It became clear that my family needed help.

I LEARNED about the Alzheimer's Association at Ward Warehouse from a woman I met at a supermarket. She overheard my conversation with one of the checkout women, who had asked about my parents. This woman joined in on our conversation, and the two of us found ourselves standing in the parking lot talking like two old friends. She shared her experiences with her father, who also suffered through Alzheimer's. What a godsend she was.

I stopped by the Alzheimer's Association office, and the moment I met Esther, the social worker on staff that morning, I knew I had found the right place. All I wanted to do was just break down and cry. I was a mess. Esther patiently waited and listened as I described my family's situation.

For two hours Esther taught me about the disease and how to handle situations to minimize the frustration of both patient and caregiver. She signed mom and I up for an Alzheimer's workshop and directed us to a support group that meets monthly. Armed with this information, and more importantly, a direction, mom and I are now getting the help we so desperately needed.

Although the road will be rough, at least we have information that will, hopefully, make the road less perilous. I encourage anyone who might be going through this same horror to seek help before frustration and anxiety overwhelm you. Don't think that you can handle it alone or that it would be "shame" to seek help.

I never thought my family would ever go through this. I had heard about other families and read similar stories in newspapers and magazines, but until it happens to your family, it's just another sad story.

I'm beginning to realize it is much more than that. I now understand how brave, courageous and strong caregivers are. I understand how painful it is to watch someone you love slowly become an empty shell of a human being. And if I were asked what a hero is, I would describe my mom.

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