December 28, 2002

Picture this, in a bedroom with an adjoining bath: music blasting, loud talking and five women in their underwear, ironing clothes, fixing each other's hair, gossiping, joking, laughing, putting on makeup and not letting any men in the room.

I suddenly realized how much I missed my family--the mess, the noise, the yelling, the hugging, the helping. What a way to start Christmas Eve.

Before I moved here in August, all my kids lived with me except my kids lived with me except my oldest daughter Kristina. Then my second daughter, Jennifer, and her daughter Adias, moved to Oklahoma. My son, Erik, stayed in Decatur to be with his girlfriend. My forth child, Jessica, moved to Virginia for college and my daughter, Regina (still in high school), moved with us. So the "empty nest" feeling was hard upon me. Having them all home for Christmas made me miss them even and realize how precious they all are.

This was the slowest and most wonderful week of the year 2002. We spent Christmas Day at home alone, if you call ten people in a house "alone." We went to the movies and saw Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers. The next day we went tot he Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. Of course Dad was with us and we all had a great time. I bathed him on the night before so he didn't have to take a bath that morning. It was hustle and bustle in the house with so many people and only two bathrooms!

I told Dad we were going for a ride and he was good with that. He went willingly into the car and seemed happy. At the museum we had a little wait before we were able to rent a wheelchair; Dad became impatient due to all the noise and crowds. But the kids were having a great time and once we got started, they took turns pushing his wheelchair. Each one would take time to talk to Dad, pointing things out for him or just saying, "I love you," He smiled each time they offered a little extra attention.

The museum had an area lined with Christmas trees from all over the world. We walked down the aisle and Dad kept telling us to , "Hurry now." But when we got to the section with the old-fashioned cars and fire engines, he seemed to calm down and enjoy himself. Before we left, we stopped at the old ice cream parlor for a treat. Thee was a long line, and Dad lost patience while we waited, but brightened up once he got his ice cream.

On the 27th of December we had an Open House. I thought this might be a good opportunity for Dad to see his family land some of his old friends. I'd discovered that many people were uncomfortable around Dad now, and they found many reasons not to stop by. I decided that an Open House, with Dad surrounded by his family, would make their visit a little less uncomfortable. These people all remembered Dad before he was sick and didn't want to see him in his current state. In any case, we all had a wonderful time. Dad even danced for everyone.

The next day the kids began to leave but that evening we went to a family reunion on my mother=in-law's side of the family. We had a great time.

My children are certainly getting an education on Alzheimer's. They have seen their Grandfather show the ugly side when he gets upset and acts like a child, fighting , kicking and swearing. but they also can see his nice side, when Dad tells them he loves them or asks them how they are doing. They are learning to be caregivers, not letting him get up without his walker or fetching him drinks when he asks. They have learned to be patient when he asked the same thing over and over again.

They can't believe how he doesn't sleep at night, as they hear me get up repeatedly and put him back to bed. They also had time to enjoy him. We did karaoke and , while Dad didn't sing he did get up and dance.. They made him a part of the family, just as if he always was like this from the beginning.

Remember, life is a gift from God, so please obey His will and enjoy His gift. Live each five minutes like it is your last.

Sincerely,
Marie Fostino
Alzheimer's A Caretakers Journal
Seaboard Press An Imprint of James A. Rock & Co., Pub.
www.mariefostino.com