Unthinkable

This is part of a series of essays about the time I spent with my father in November 2013.  My father is in late stage dementia.  At the time, he still was living at the home he shared with Shirley, his wife of 65 years. 


Finding a place to park at St. Patrick Hospital was easy.  The hospital sits just outside the downtown Missoula area.  Easy underground parking.  But, with my father, nothing anymore is really easy.

My father told me to take a left when I took a right and turn right when we needed to go left.  Not sure what that is about.  Maybe he was some kind of navigator in a previous life.  As I slid the compact rental into the parking space, I turned to Frank and said, “Let’s go find Shirley.”

The short walk from car to hospital entrance took way longer than usual.  My dad was slow moving.  And every few steps, I could hear him clearing his throat.  The sound that is pain driven.  The morning’s activities at the VA clinic had obviously taken their toll on the 89-year-old.  And he hadn’t eaten anything in hours.  Of course this didn’t prevent my father from trying to misguide us to the elevators.  I took that as a positive sign.

My mom was looking forward to seeing Frank.  She had been worried about him.  Wondered what he must be thinking.  Why had she left?  Where had she gone?   Without her, he unravels. 

The two greet each other with a kiss.  My dad is all smiles.  Geez, you would think he was some teenager on his first date.

My mom, at 86, has retained her natural beauty.  Her older sister tells me that men were always drawn to her good looks and that she hated the attention.  Norwegians, my mom once said, were uncomfortable with the spotlight.  My mom is a second generation Norwegian American and true to her heritage, she avoids attention.  Much of her life has been spent in my father’s shadow, who unlike my mother loves the spotlight.  Specifically, he likes people, and was and still is the type who never met a stranger.   He was the younger of two boys and was adored by his mother.   Adored.   His father was a Methodist minister, so add an entire congregation to that Frank Adoration Club. 

When my parents met, he was the college jock and my mother was the college brainiac.  My mother was studying English while my father was quarterback of the football team, or point guard on the basketball team or pole vaulting in a track and field event.  She had the brains and he had the brawn.   

Beats me how they ever found each other, but they did.  And now Frank was back in the pull of Shirley’s universe and all seemed well in that small private hospital room.   I left the two alone to find some lunch to bring back to the room.

Frank and Shirley sat near each other, eating off the same plate.  Sharing a sandwich and fruit.  My father offered Shirley his water bottle.  Declining, she kindly pointed to her own giant hospital grade water cup with gigantic flexible straw.   My father understood.   Their communication is like a dance with steps only they know, my mom leading.

The doctors came in to check on Shirley during our visit, which was a bonus for my father.  An opportunity to smile at people and to talk about his own heart bypass.  You never know how far to let Frank go in a conversation.  People who don’t know him don’t immediately catch on that this man has cognitive challenges.   These are the kinds of social situations that bother and even embarrass Shirley.  Puts her in the spotlight.   “They know, Frank,” she says trying to redirect the medical consult to the actual patient.

After the doctors leave, I can see that my mother has tired.  It’s time to go.  We have overstayed our welcome.   Turning to Shirley, I say we need to let her get some rest.  She does not argue.  Turning to Frank I say we have to go and let Shirley rest.  He does argue.   Not only does he not want to leave Shirley, he fully expects us to bring her home.  Today.

I did not think this through.   At all.

Poor Shirley.  She is the one who has to convince Frank to leave.  She is the only one who can, at this point.  She has all the authority as far as Frank is concerned. 

Frank reluctantly puts on coat, then hat, then gloves.  Shirley kisses him goodbye.  We are making progress toward the car when Frank stops.  He tells me he is going to stay with Shirley.  I have no idea who or how many people witness our exchange.  All I know is that I used a tone with my father I had never used before.   No. No. No.  Shirley is sick and needs rest.  The doctors say she has to stay here.  You have to go home.  He resists, I repeat.  He resists, I repeat.

In the end, I wear him down.  He is already beyond exhausted. 

Frank has become selfish in his dementia.   He is not capable of understanding circumstance.  His brain can no longer wrap around the idea that he has to leave Shirley.   It’s unthinkable for him.  

Understandably unthinkable. 

Next: Don’t touch the buttons