Dad’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s stayed hidden
from everyone until I took over the medical administration of my parents in 2015.
Once I found out, there was a deafening silence from most of the people I know
even though virtually all of them would add, “My _____ had Alzheimer’s…” But there
was little help, little beyond people sadly shaking heads. Or horror stories. Lots
of those. Even the ones who knew about the disease seemed to have received a gag
order from some Central Alzheimer’s Command and did little more than mumble about
the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this part of
my blog…
As I detailed in Alzheimer’s
In the Time of COVID-19 (https://breastcancerreaper.blogspot.com/2020/03/guys-gotta-talk-aboutalzheimers-28.html),
I’ve been thinking a lot about what my parents would have done, what I do, and
where this all might end…
Not the spread of
the disease itself – we already expect that there will be a surge in July or
August of this year. With the wave of protest against police brutality
blossoming across the face of the planet, and the close confines that promotes (in
addition to a “mask optional” paradigm, despite leadership trying to lead by
example), a surge is inevitable. The same types of protests have exploded in
other countries, giving rise to the sense that while it’s horrible in the US
(and I’ve lived in the epicenter of Minneapolis most of my life), it is an
issue everywhere.
Not the protests –
we’ve set ourselves up for a major societal paradigm shift (and there’s plenty
of blame to go around (as well as strenuous efforts by our elected politicians to
shift the blame off of their desks and onto anyone else they can think of (https://time.com/5848705/disband-and-replace-minneapolis-police/)).
HUMANITY has to come up with a better way to interact.
And that’s another
reason why I’m glad my parents are not here to witness this.
A local CUB that
used to be open 24 hours has both boarded up its windows, redirected customers
to use a single entrance/exit, and cut its hours in half. That was the CUB my (mother
usually) they shopped at. I can only barely imagine the look on my mother’s
face on pulling into the parking lot to see the windows boarded up. Now, don’t
get me wrong, Mom was a tough old bird. She worked in a first-ring suburban
high school, and when she married my dad, she married an inner city, 1940’s “youth
gang” member. This Wikipedia entry precisely explains what my dad experienced
from 1946 (he was 15) to his adulthood: “However youth gangs are said to be an
important social institution for low income youths and young adults because
they often serve as cultural, social, and economic functions which are no
longer served by the family, school or labor market. Youth gangs tend to
emerge during times of rapid social change and instability. Young people
can be attracted to joining a youth gang for a number of reasons. They provide
a degree of order and solidarity for their members and make them feel like part
of a group or a community.
“The diffusion of
gang culture to the point where it has been integrated into a larger youth
culture has led to widespread adoption by youth of many of the symbols of gang
life. For this reason, more and more youth who earlier may have not condoned
gang behavior are more willing, even challenged to experiment with gang-like
activity. Youth gangs may be an ever-present feature of urban culture that
change over time in its form, social meaning and antisocial behavior.”
She would be no
stranger to this kind of unrest – Mom and Dad raised us through the 1967
Minneapolis North race riots (https://www.minnpost.com/mnopedia/2017/07/july-1967-civil-unrest-plymouth-avenue/).
This was where Dad grew up and Mom
worked…
But, how would she
have coped with this? I have a good idea what Dad would have said – if he hadn’t
been creeping into stage three (https://breastcancerreaper.blogspot.com/search?q=Stages+of+Alzheimer%27s),
he’d have had plenty to say…
Mom was always the
positive one; often looking for the best in people. Dad was more cynical with
the world at large – though not with his grandchildren!
At any rate, my
initial question, “How many times can I revisit the past?” is pertinent here. I
often drive past the place they spent the last four years of their lives
because I shop at the grocery store that Mom and (rarely!) Dad shopped at when
they lived in the Assisted Living and Memory Care facility. It’s expanding, and
the marvelous view they once had of a nearby park and playground has been
blocked by a “newer” Independent/Assisted/Memory Care facility (in fact, I
believe these kinds of places (ALL of which require VERY LARGE BANK ACCOUNTS
for collateral in order to even apply to live there)) have become a cash cow
for “apartment builders”…
Sorry, a bit of a soapbox
there. I can continue to visit the past as long as it has relevance for the
present and the future. While the chances for me and my siblings developing
Alzheimer’s aren’t all that much worse than if Dad hadn’t had Alzheimer’s ( https://breastcancerreaper.blogspot.com/2019/10/guys-gotta-talk-aboutalzheimers-26.html,
https://breastcancerreaper.blogspot.com/2020/04/alzheimers-research-right-now-7.html),
it’s still there.
I will CONTINUE to
visit the past as long as it informs the future – which sounds an awful lot
like what I’m going to be doing in this new age of civil unrest…Oh, and just
for comparison, I’ll point you to the following comments on an episode of STAR
TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE – https://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2019/02/possibly-irritating-essays.html
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