It was only after the arrival of my children that I truly began to grasp the immense burden my mother had borne. Diapers, meltdowns, and mealtime struggles were challenges she faced daily—not just as a parent to my brother and me, but as the caregiver for my father, who was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. “She keeps him connected to life,” my grandmother would often remark about my mom’s unwavering dedication.
My father passed away at 66 after more than a decade of living with the disease. While the term “battle” is commonly used, it doesn’t quite capture the reality. There’s no victory, no chance for triumph. Yet, in his final years, my father’s quality of life was better than many others in similar situations.
Throughout their journey, my mother included my dad in all her activities. He would join her Zumba classes, moving to his own rhythm at the back of the room. If he wandered too close to someone, she would gently redirect him. On the tennis court, other players took turns keeping him company while my mom played. Occasionally, he would leave with a ball or even someone’s keys.
No one ever commented on it.
He adored swimming, although in his last years, he struggled to coordinate his movements. Some days, he resisted changing into a swimsuit, and eventually, my mom let him enter the pool fully clothed. Getting him out of wet clothes, into the car, or even to the bathroom became monumental tasks. Initially, she kept these struggles from me, but it became all too real when I discovered adult diapers and pee pads. I tried to visit every couple of months, but my pregnancy and the Zika virus made it difficult in his final months. During my last visit, I was taken aback by the persistent odor in their home.
He typically had cereal for breakfast, managing to eat it without help if my mom placed the spoon in his hand and showed him the bowl. Treats were a highlight for him, and after a doctor’s visit where his cholesterol spiked, my mom was advised to cut back. However, when she relayed this to the doctor, he suggested sweets again, acknowledging that eating was one of my father’s last pleasures.
As a parent, there are expected tasks: changing diapers, feeding, dressing, and nurturing social skills. But as a spouse, those duties take on a different form—changing a partner’s diaper, dressing them, and ensuring their social engagement while maintaining your own mental well-being. And as a daughter, witnessing my mom changing my father’s diaper and calming him while he expressed his frustrations was a jarring reality.
In the three and a half years since my father’s passing, the memories remain vivid and painful, and I find myself processing what we went through. My father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s and my mother’s commitment to his care have profoundly shaped my approach to motherhood for my two sons, aged three years and seven months.
During my final visit, my father slept a lot, and I wasn’t sure if he recognized me. Yet, the day after I returned home, my mom texted to say he had remarked, “my family was here, beautiful.” I believe he was still present somewhere within him. Since the birth of my children, I’ve treated them as though they recognize my presence, filling the pages of their lives with love and learning.
Reflecting on my wedding day, two years before his death, I hope he sensed the joy of the occasion. As we walked down the aisle, he grew agitated and didn’t want to sit down. With some calming, he eventually settled, but I wished we had prepared him better for the event. Now, I always prepare my boys for what’s coming next, whether it’s a meal or a new activity, to help them feel secure.
Dining out with my dad was often challenging. My mom would ask him what he wanted, even though ordering for him would have been simpler. If he chose a hamburger, she guided his hands to help him eat, but sometimes he struggled to let go of his fists. I recognized how important it was to offer him choices, fostering his sense of agency. I’ve applied this same principle with my toddler, which has fostered trust during mealtime.
There was a time when my father was aware of his condition, and it was difficult to explain limitations to him. My parents relocated to a safe community, allowing him to walk freely within a secure perimeter. Similarly, I allow my toddler to explore within safe boundaries, saying “yes” to low-risk activities, which helps him feel empowered.
When my father became agitated, I discovered two techniques that often helped diffuse his frustration, which I also use with my boys. One was distraction; my mom would redirect him to a safer activity, like letting him wander to the porch. I apply this by suggesting new toys or activities to prevent tantrums. The second technique involved music, which I found very effective. When my dad heard familiar tunes, he would engage with them. I keep a playlist of my toddler’s music handy to encourage transitions.
It’s heartbreaking to realize I’m raising my boys with the same strategies my mother used to give my father a meaningful life during his final months. Yet, I strive to impart the kindness and values he exemplified throughout his life before Alzheimer’s took hold. I know he would be proud of the mother I am becoming.
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Summary
This article reflects on how the author’s experience with her father’s Alzheimer’s and her mother’s caregiving shaped her approach to motherhood. It explores the challenges and lessons learned from dealing with a loved one’s illness, emphasizing the importance of preparation, choice, and emotional connection in parenting.
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