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| Author: | Doug |
| E-mail: | dalang@telus.net |
| Date: | 9/20/2003 9:10:32 PM |
| Subject: | My Dad |
| Message: | My dad started a baseball league in Moose Jaw called Parkhill Minor Baseball. He was its first President, and took part in the building of five ballparks around town. He taught me to love the game with a passion. When we moved west to Victoria he lost his guitar teacher, so his old Silvertone sat in its case down in the basement for years. When I was about nine, I pulled it down, wiped away the dust, and tried to play it. He came upon me down there one evening. I thought he was gonna give me hell, but he didn't. He showed me a few chords. The next day when I got home from school, the guitar was on my bed, all shined up. Dad had put new strings on it and tuned it. There was book there, too, of chord diagrams. He led me upstairs, handed me the guitar and said, "This is yours now." Dad has been showing signs of Alzheimers for the past six months or so. He lives in Vernon with my mom, a mile or so from my sister Judith's place. Vernon is roughly 350 miles from Vancouver. Yesterday morning after breakfast at my sister's, dad slumped over. He'd had a stroke. He's in the hospital now, doing much better. Yesterday, he was delusional, telling nurses they better get the hell out of there because the Germans were going to come and blow up the hospital. Dad served in the second World War, and some of that memory is surfacing. His sense of time is all shuffled, and last night he told mom to get that Dougie to bed 'cause he's up too damn late again! It's sad, yes, yet you laugh a little, too, because that keeps the sadness company. I've been talking with my mom and sister and they tell me he seemed a lot more in the here and now today. He even grabbed a broom and went out into the courtyard to sweep up. Always was a busy man, industrious. Mom had to laugh when she was telling me because when she went over to him he leaned on his broom and told her he's been "casing the joint," in order to figure out how to get away. I'd gratefully receive posts or e-mails of support from my Porch family, and if anyone cares to trade notes about elders who had or have Alzheimers that would be appreciated. My dad's not in pain, which is good, but his mind is moving through many times at once and he's experiencing a range of emotions. They're looking for a medication which will steady him some. My mom is sad, of course. She's loved him for almost sixty years, and now his essence is drifting. It's good my sister and her family are there. I'm phoning regularly, as is my brother, Gary, ready to travel up on a moment's notice. I tend to keep a little private regarding my family, out of respect, discretion. It hit me after putting the phone down, though, the feelings, the sense that the mainland is breaking into archipelagos now, that my father is moving a little farther away from us every day. This porch has been a gift to me. And, because you are now a part of my extended family, dear hearts, I share this. When I first started playing music for a living, he and my mom would sometimes surprise me by driving a couple hundred miles to see me play. |
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My Dad by Doug at 9/20/2003 9:10:32 PM |
at 9/20/2003 9:33:18 PM |
at 9/20/2003 11:09:31 PM |
at 9/23/2003 5:44:27 AM |
at 9/21/2003 12:53:30 AM |
at 9/21/2003 5:50:14 AM |
at 9/21/2003 8:45:33 AM |
at 9/21/2003 10:22:14 AM |
at 9/21/2003 10:57:19 AM |
at 9/21/2003 12:12:37 PM |
at 9/21/2003 12:11:04 PM |
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