To My Grandpa on his 100th Birthday

Alzheimer's Disease is death before death, and I'm terrified of it." - Joey Comeau

I wrote this entire entry last Sunday during my 5 hour train ride...

Once again I'm on board VIA Rail train 65 to Toronto Union from Dorval, Quebec.  For my friends and family who follow my accounts through social media, it appears that I am returning home from a fun-filled weekend away - no kids, a little shopping, plenty of good food, morning runs along the St. Lawrence, non-alcoholic wine and loads of good conversation.  Not to mention this was the first time in over 5 years that I've left home and my family to be on my own for a few days.  But below the surface and behind all the charming photos, this weekend had much more meaning and significance than I ever could have imagined...For the first time in 7 years I went to visit my father.

I never wanted to make this trip alone and nor did I intend on waiting so long.  I should have done it years prior but the timing never seemed right.  Once I gave birth to our first son Hudson, we basically kept the ball rolling.  Fast forward five years and here we are, just weeks away from the birth of our fourth.  Needless to say, there has never been a dull moment and finding the time to visit my father was never a priority.  I could talk for hours about the reasons why and explain all the ups and downs of our relationship, but all you really need to know is that my mom raised me with the support of her family and when I did have the chance to visit my dad, it was his new wife who stepped up to the plate and took me in as one of her own.  She treated me like a daughter in every sense of the word...from her unconditional love to her ongoing motherly advice - and yes, she even disciplined me, when of course it was deserving.  She always communicated openly and positively with my own mother and I had so much appreciation for her ability to do so.  On the other hand my memories of my dad consist mainly of those typical father-daughter dinners, where he would pick me up at my mom's house and take me to Swiss Chalet, play catch-up, then drop me off back at home, always reminding me how much he loved me and wished he could be there more.  Although he was always physically present during my visits with his new family, I rarely spent any quality time with him.  He was always busy working away on something, but it never seemed to bother me.  I always had my siblings, my stepmom and her family - and that was all I needed.  I'll never forgot the day I found out my father and stepmom had decided to separate.  I was 16 years old at the time and it still seems like just yesterday.  I feared that without her in his life, my relationship with my father would change even more...time would tell.

Despite our distant relationship even when together, I held my father in high regard and often spoke proudly of his life-long accomplishments.  He was born in Scotland in 1933.  During the war he was forced to leave his family behind and make the long and lonely journey to America, with only a small carry bag and dressed in his traditional Scottish attire...a white shirt and kilt.  Upon arrival he was taken in by a family who raised him as though he was one of theirs.  He soon grew up, never smoked a cigarette in his life, drank rarely, became a Olympic level swimmer and held the Canadian record for the 100m backstroke.  For years he was a well known and admired swim coach at the Etobicoke Olympium in Ontario, Canada.  His accomplishments didn't stop there.  He graduated from Ryerson, went on to become a successful salesman and eventually started his own business.  He was a confident, strong and very attractive man.  He could sell anything, make you believe everything and always managed to bring a smile to all those he encountered.  He most definitely had a way with the ladies and through the years he became a father to four children...that I'm aware of.  Some might say that was his greatest accomplishment but unfortunately I don't think he ever saw it that way. 

Regardless of the fact that we had different mothers (except for the youngest two), we all eventually connected over the years and developed relationships along the way...some were maintained while others were temporarily put on hold and rekindled as adults.  Some relationships are still a work in progress, but regardless the greatest gift my father ever gave me were my siblings and my stepmom.  Although as a child I didn't realize it, those summer vacations and Christmas holidays I spent in Montreal, St. Sauveur and England were amongst some of my most fond memories.  It's the recollection of those childhood days that have encouraged me to always believe in the love and strength of a large family.  I am very grateful to my own mother for always allowing me the opportunity to see my extended family.  It took a confident individual never to put my father down in front of me and an even stronger woman to always encourage the relationship my father and I tried to have.

At this point I feel as though I've been rambling on and on but the truth is, the more I write, the more I'm able to process all the emotions I've been feeling as the weekend progressed.  From the moment I saw my stepmom for the first time in almost 15 years, to understanding why my younger sister hasn't made any effort to contact me since our father got sick, to wandering anxiously around the halls of the medical building where my father now resides (and will probably stay until the day he dies) and finally to the late night conversations with my brother and stepmom catching up, reminiscing and speaking about my father...something I've needed to do for a long time, but never made the effort to do so.

Regardless, the main reason for my trip was and always has been to see my dad...but not the man I once knew.  Years ago my father was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease.  After refusing to accept his prognosis, he ignored - for nearly a decade any orders to follow a strict regimen in regards to medication and preventative therapy.  Advice that may have extended the quality of his life for several years.  Instead he suffered the consequences and just over 5 years ago he took a turn for the worse.  Thankfully my younger brother and sister did everything they could to ensure he was taken care of.  Eventually after suffering the emotional burden of taking care of a sick parent, my siblings had him placed in the medical facility where he now spends all of his days.

So where do I come in? ...the truth is I never did.  I felt no connection towards my father and even less responsibility when it came to helping him.  For my entire life he was just the dad I spoke about and visited with occasionally.  He definitely wasn't the father every child deserves to have.  Don't get me wrong, I know millions of people don't have good relationships with their parents so I'm by no means feeling sorry for myself (I had a wonderful childhood despite his lack of presence).  But rather I'm implying that the reason for my distance these past 7 years is a direct result of my relationship with my father...or in better terms, lack thereof - but the good intention of seeing him was always there.  It was just a matter of time before everything could fall into place and more importantly I felt ready to go. 

When my brother came home to visit this past Christmas, it was then that I threw the idea out there.  The funny thing is, that's all it was to me - just an idea.  As the weeks went by and my pregnancy progressed into the third trimester, I finally made the decision to go (but not without encouragement from my brother and family).  In all honesty, I didn't want to go.  I felt as though it was a huge inconvenience for everyone involved.  The thought of spending two long days traveling while 31 weeks pregnant, only to see my father for a short visit and having to leave my husband behind with all three kids seemed completely unreasonable...and yet my husband, my brother, my mom, my aunts, my in-laws, my stepmom and even my Principal at school all went out of their way to ensure I made it safely and comfortably to Montreal in order to see my father.

My train tickets were booked, plans were in place to make sure my husband had a helping hand with the kids and my brother had made all the prior arrangements in Montreal so that I had a place to stay and a personal chauffeur for the weekend.  I arrived on a beautiful sunny Friday afternoon, my brother picked me up on time and escorted me to his mom's house where I was reunited with my stepmom for the first time in years.  I unloaded my things, then my brother and I were ushered out of the house for an enjoyable evening with my stepmom and her partner.  After traveling all day, I was absolutely starving and for the first time ever I was feeling very excited to finally be there.  They wined and dined us the entire evening - it was the perfect distraction.  Later that night we sat by the water and spent hours catching up and reconnecting...very little conversation centered around my father, although I was reminded how difficult tomorrow would be.  Nevertheless, I went to bed that night in a king size bed and opened a beautiful gift from my stepmom which she had told me not to open in front of her..."it will make us cry", she said - and indeed she was right.

The next morning I slept in a little, called my family first thing, then finally got out of bed and eventually went for a long run along the water.  Soon after, my brother arrived for his weekly brunch date with his mom.  We headed out in her brand new corvette, indulged in breakfast foods I rarely eat, headed to the marina where my stepmom's partner owns a Mercury dealership and climbed aboard boats worth well over a million dollars.  From there we went shopping so I could buy something small for the kids and it was even more fun because my brother decided to tag along.  Then in a matter of hours, our morning plans had come to an end.  It was time.  Unwillingly I was reminded of the reason I was actually there and what seemed like a glamorous weekend away was now about to take a turn towards reality. 

I got into my brother's car and we made the journey up to the town where our father was living.  We didn't talk much during the ride, and even less as we neared his building.  We turned into the driveway at which point I knew there was no turning back.  We got out of the car and my brother took my hand the entire way, never letting go.  We walked into to the facility, not easily mind you.  Every door required a new code, security that was in place to ensure their patients were kept safe and didn't escape.  I immediately understood why trying to escape was not a rare event.  The building had an unusual and distinct smell that was rather unpleasant, it was fairly clean but much older than I had envisioned.  Everywhere you looked there were people sitting, most of them in wheelchairs, some were interacting with each other, I even saw one smiling...but most appeared to be sitting completely unresponsive and unaware of the world around them.  Some of them even looked dead, but my brother assured me that was completely normal.  "Just wait until we get to dad's floor", he said. 

Unfortunately they had recently moved my father to a new room and so the search began.  What should have taken only a few minutes seemed to take an uncomfortable amount of time.  I recall walking aimlessly around the halls, trying to locate him, then for a brief moment I was alone as my brother (who assured me he would return) went ahead trying to find someone who could hopefully point us in the right direction.  With each step I felt more and more anxious, then suddenly behind me I heard a woman crying and yelling.  I turned immediately and saw her flailing her arms hysterically as she quickly came towards me.  I stood there frozen,  then in a matter of seconds a nurse stepped out in front of me and calmly directed the woman back to her room.  It was then I wanted to turn around and head home, but before I had a chance to say anything my brother returned with one of the medical staff...then without exchanging any words she lead us right to our dad.

Right away I recognized him, although he was sitting in a wheelchair and facing the other direction.  He was with one of the nurses who was helping to feed him some ice cream.  Immediately my brother approached him, gave him a hug and asked how he was doing.  I just stood there contemplating what I should do, but watched in amazement as my brother greeted him...he made it look so easy.  Then he motioned at me to come over and as I did he introduced me.  "Here's your daughter dad, say hi to Katie".  I walked around to him and immediately my eyes started to tear up.  He looked at me and smiled but deep down I knew he had no idea who I was or what I was doing there.  Realizing how emotional I had become, my brother confidently stepped in and started talking with my father about anything and everything.  His new hair-cut, the ice cream he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying, his new room...I just stood there and listened.  I couldn't believe how much my dad had changed.  He had aged - a lot, which was probably due to his extreme weight loss.  They had him strapped in for fear that he might suddenly become aggressive.  He seemed clean but his clothes were covered in stains from his most recent snack.  I felt an immediate need to tidy him up, maybe ask for a new set of clothes but then my brother convinced me they took good care of him.  I suppose he didn't mind how he looked anyway, but I still felt the need to make him look more presentable, like the handsome man he once was. 

Then for a brief moment I caught him smiling at me.  Hesitating I looked right into his eyes, but to my surprise there he was...my dad, just as I had remembered.  His smiling blue eyes hadn't changed one bit, and his warm grin was almost comforting.  Despite years of illness and suffering, that part of him remained intact...that alone made me feel somewhat better.  I seemed to relax a little as I finally sat down next to him...but still kept my distance.  For the remainder of our visit, I continued to allow my brother to take the lead and I followed in his footsteps.  We took our dad for a walk, sat by his window, fed him his favourite treat (shortbread cookies), conversed on random topics...from the weather to things that actually seemed familiar.  Glimpses of his life and untold stories.  He even told my brother and I that he had 20 kids and for one precious moment in time, we were all laughing (and I'm sure my brother was thinking what I was thinking - it was probably true). 

When it came time to leave I didn't want him to be alone.  My brother explained he wouldn't know the difference and although I knew he was right I insisted on pushing him into one of the common rooms.  Again, I allowed my brother to lead the way.  We both gave our dad a hug, said goodbye and then in an instant he had already forgotten we were even there.  I kept a watchful eye on him as we walked away, my brother went on ahead.  While I knew I would never forget this visit, it had become a distant memory for my father, who had quickly and with ease navigated through the crowds of people we had surrounded him with...only to find himself alone once again.

On our way home we spoke very little about the visit, instead we turned our discussion to plans for the evening.  Quite honestly, it was better that way.  I needed some time to process everything, gather my thoughts and prepare for the long journey home the following day.  As I said before, I had been contemplating spending my entire trip writing - and that's exactly what I did.  As hard as it was, it's just what I needed to bring this weekend to a close. 

I look down at my phone and I'm shocked to realize what time it is.  The next stop is Toronto, then I'll be getting on the subway and heading home.  I'm definitely feeling a sense of relief and for the first time in years, I'm starting to remember some of the good things about my dad.  As I start to write them down, again I begin to drift off...this time I feel content.

His incredible ability as a coach and teacher, swimming endless hours with me across the lake and back again, waking up at 6am and dragging me out of bed to go waterskiing, when all you could see for miles was the warm mist rising from the lake below (maybe this time I would master the dock start), then heading back to the cottage for homemade pancakes and real maple syrup.  Driving around our property on one of his many tractors and even getting to take control of the wheel.  And dogs - my dad always had a love for animals.  I'll never forget our early Monday morning drives back to Toronto, when he would willingly leave at that horrible hour just so we could spend one more night at the cottage.  Every day spent up-north was a day worth remembering.  Finally, I'll never forgot how when he smiles, he smiles with his eyes...just like I do.  Perhaps when I return home I can look at my oldest son who also has those beautiful blue eyes and maybe, just maybe I'll think of my dad...and that's probably a good thing.

"When your heart couldn't tell me what you wanted to say.  I saw everything in your eyes." -S.L.-

I think that's all for now...have a wonderful weekend!