Monday, April 12, 2010

Prize Tomatoes - Anne F. Rosner

Anne F. Rosner -????

A story that hits about as close to home as you can get. I think I subliminally waited to write about this story until after the visit to my father’s.

We visited him this weekend to give him the news, and it seems that with each visit, I’m able to discover a little more about his state of mind.

My father lost his permission to drive. The state as well as my step mother have taken it away. His old car was sold several months ago. He slipped once and told me that he would sneak out with it from time to time. A trip to Home Depot, the bagel store or the market.

Years ago – actually, as recently as 5 years ago, my father drove like a bat out of hell. Music pounding through the speakers, squealing tires around corners – passing on two lane roads, excessive speeds...but, what seemed to be a dance with death, was actually a game of control with reality.

Well, he finally lost his game of control when those around him told him that because of his disease, he was no longer safe on the roads.

Sadly, I have to agree with the decision to stop him from driving.

The world is moving too fast for him to process now.

His speed is walking speed – and boy can he walk.


You know, I’m having a bunch of trouble writing now. I just can’t get into it. I don’t have the motivation. You can see that I am obviously writing now and I think that what I am doing at this very moment is in a way helping me work through the difficult patch of motivation that I am swimming in now.

I really wanted to write something special about this story and how I saw so many similarities between the father in this story and my father.

My dad has lost his independence due to Alzheimer’s. It sucks and I’m still attempting to process a lot of things surrounding it.

A couple of times this weekend, I caught him just walking around the house – and when I asked him what he was doing or where he was going, he admitted that he had forgotten.

Over the past several months, I have questioned what he does with himself all day.

Now I know. I have a feeling that he starts the day off with some tasks or chores in mind or on a list, and he just wanders from one to another. He may start cleaning a room, carry something to another and become distracted by what is in that room and remain there for minutes or an hour – totally forgetting what it was that he was doing before he came into that room.

He walks outside to check on something and forgets what it was that he was going to check on as he is walking there and ends up in a place where he has wandered for no apparent reason – at least to him.

Sometimes things in the house get a little too heated for him. He can no longer escape as he did in the past.

He’s lost. It is sad.

That’s all I have to say about that.

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