Do You Remember, Daddy?

Dedicated to all the families dealing with Alzheimer’s Disease. We remember.

My dad lays in the hospital bed with his head hung down. His neck hurts, but he can’t seem to hold it up anymore. His 90th birthday was in December and his Alzheimer’s is getting worse. The big, strapping, strong man that I did flips off of as a kid is fighting to remember his life. We are fighting to hold on to him, too.

It’s times like this where I start to remember all the little moments we spent together. They seemed so insignificant then, but way more important now.

I remember summers spent in his garage. He had an auto-body shop located at our home, so we would sneak in and out getting his tools for our projects, helping him put up his shop rags, peering into his shop fridge to see if he was hiding any goodies or even sitting in one of the “cool” cars he was fixing.

I remember him painting those cars, and he would pretend to use his paint gun to paint us--our hair flying up and our clothes pressed to our body as we squealed and ran away. He was actually pulling the air button, and not the paint button, but he would laugh as we ran off. Do you remember that Daddy?

I remember loading and chopping wood with him. He would chop it and I would load it into the wheelbarrow and help bring it to the house. That wood kept our fireplace and wood stove humming in the winter. I loved those cold nights, under the stars most of the time, with just us. I didn’t have to share him with my sisters then. He would talk about everything and sometimes nothing.

I remember him picking me up from basketball practice, and him going to my games after working a full day, not just to see me play, but to bring me home early so I could get my homework done and keep my grades up. Daddy never graduated from high school (back then teens went to work)—but he and Mom wanted better for us—and made sure we had the time to do well in school.

I remember that vacation to Kennedy Space Center, where Daddy acted like a kid in a candy store. He loved the rockets and history. His smile was infectious. We toured all the different exhibits and spent the day taking in a part of our national history. Do you remember that Daddy?

I remember Daddy helping those less fortunate. We always had what we needed growing up, but there wasn’t a lot of extra. We knew we were blessed, but when Daddy saw a struggling family I think it touched his heart. He would slip them money when he thought no one was watching. Never for accolades or attention, but for love and to help. I caught him one time as he slowly snuck it out of his pocket and hid it in the palm of his hand. He shakes the man’s hand and you can tell the man can feel the folded money and is surprised. After all, hundreds have just walked by him and his family as they ask for help at the rest area where we stopped to use the restroom and stretch our legs. I asked Daddy...”how do you know if he will use it like he is supposed to?” “It’s not our place to judge,” he says. “He answers to God if he’s lying, and we answer for not helping when we could have.” Looking at me he says, “I hope someone would help us if we needed it.” Do you remember that lesson Daddy?

I remember spending summers at the lake. Him throwing us into the water and swimming with us. I remember us grilling breakfast at the picnic site... why does a meal always taste better when cooked outside? I remember him loving the beach. He and Mom walking up and down the sandy shores, hand-in-hand. I remember him swimming with his first grandchild, her squealing with delight.

I remember his excitement when he found out that he was going to have a grandson. The first boy born into his immediate family since he was born. I remember him crying when he found out that his second grandson was severely ill. How he loved on him, but you could see how his heart broke for the grandchild he loves so much.

Do you remember Daddy? I know you are struggling to remember, and I know it’s hard. But we remember these things and so much more. We remember all the wonderful, small, insignificant, daily things that you did for us as we were growing up. We remember the dedicated and loving husband and father you are to Mom and to all of us. I so hate that you are having to go through this. Losing pieces of yourself as this horrible disease progresses. But just know this...you may not remember... but we always will. The love, the caring, the lessons and the compassion that you taught us. Yes, we will always remember what an amazing man you were and still are. Even though you may not remember... the legacy you built does, and will live on in all of us.