My Name is Wade

"My name is Wade. That's me. I'm getting old and I'm dead. My mind is gone and I can't talk. My legs don't work." He points to his heart and says "It's still ticking"

He told this to my sister this last week. He had something very important to tell her, he said, and he wanted her to sit closer to him. Then he shuffles slowly next door to his own house. He never goes to my sister's house even though its nearby.

Last week, he was on a mission. I think he might have known somehow what the next week might bring. It's the only time I've ever heard him talk about his Alzheimer's. When I was visiting there for Thanksgiving, we took a walk down the street that he has lived on for 45 years. As we started, he took a not-so-quick detour to the side of the house, where he took a leak. "Don't tell that woman there, what I'm doing" My mom stood on the porch, wondering what was going on, and me waving to her to stay put. I didn't want anything to upset my dad. He was going to tell me something important. It seems he was telling lots of people important things. The words were not clear, like what he told my sister. The look in his eye, I'm sure was the same. I listened, and loved him, and told him that his secret was safe with me. I had him look at my face, and pantomined zipping my lips shut. He understood, I think.

Alzheimer's. He's in the final stage. For the past week, he has been roaming at night, and been abusive to my mom. In the morning she found the kitchen in a mess. The cupboards had been rearranged, and all the silverware scattered on the table. One night my dad woke her up threatening her with a plastic knife. She had to barricade herself in her room for several nights. Other times, papers were scattered. One by one, things have disappeared, only to be found by chance later in a drawer. Knobs have been removed off the stove, sharp objects hiddened. He has successfully put on his shirts as pants. I don't know how long it takes him to do this, in the middle of the night, but he does. The first time it happened, my mom looked up and tried to remember if he owned a pair of red pants, and soon discovered it was a shirt. He's tried to turn on the water with spoons in his hands. He screams that no one ever feeds him, when he's just ate. The wastebasket has become his favorite place to pee. And he swears someone is splashing water all over his pants everytime he goes to the bathroom.

And then he totally lost it. He started throwing objects off the piano. Little bronze sculptures, that were gifts he bought for my mom, and photos of his family went flying. My mom called my brother to come help. Its the first time he's had to be restrained, and my brother held him tight, and tried to get him to calm down. I think it was just too much for my dad. He fell, and couldn't get up. His legs that have carried him for so many years, just couldn't hold him up any more. He words are totally gone.

"My name is Wade. That's me. I'm getting old and I'm dead. My mind is gone and I can't talk. My legs don't work." He points to his heart and says "It's still ticking"

The following day, my family placed him in a nursing home.

PS. The shock for us was far greater than what my dad could comprehend. He is settling in his new home, and is up a bit and shuffling around. Even some of his words have returned. My mom is still crying. We are sad, yes, but my dear mom will finally get some rest, and visit often. It will take some time for her to adjust too. All the fights they've had will fade, and the strain of her caring for him has lifted.