There is a season

As some of you know, I have been away from Meh and Zachary since late Thursday night, flying to Michigan to be with family as my dad's condition degrades. It has been impossibly difficult in so many ways -- seeing and being with my dad in this clearly terminal state, my brother and I trying to help my mom make final arrangements, and being away from my wife and son for an extended period.

We've watched with happiness and joy as Zachary continues to grow and develop, gaining new skills and understanding, reaching new milestones, and looking at the world with increasing wonder. Unfortunately, as a harsh and cruel antithesis, I've also watched my father's -- Zachary's grandfather's -- continuing deterioration, with increasing debilities and skill restrictions. These next few blog entries will by no means be intended as precursors to a eulogy or anything like that; the disease that is claiming my father does not and should not define who he was in life.

It seems an incredibly long time ago (and yet in some ways, like it was yesterday) that my mom noticed subtle and then significant behavioral changes, and that my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease -- nearly ten years ago, at the impossibly and infuriatingly early age of 48. Even now, he remains the youngest resident at his care facility (and doubly depressingly, many of the elder residents were more lucid than him, even when he was first admitted). My mom had cared untiringly and amazingly for him at home for an extended period as his facilities gradually faded, but he eventually required more professional care in a facility that has featured incredibly kind, caring, and respectful staff. I continued to visit when I could, though I feel not nearly frequently enough; on each visit, something more had been taken away -- recognition, motor skills, speech, walking. My mom's strength at dealing with the insufferable situation continued to amaze me.

One bright light as the disease has progressed is our family's friends, who have all been incredibly supportive, kind, generous, and have themselves shared in the grief of slowly losing my dad. My parents' neighbors have done everything from household chores, home improvements, and errands, to watching and caring for Gus. Our family friends actively include my mom in their activities, visit and interact with my dad, and have done everything in their power to continue to buoy up my mom, brother, and myself. And my brother, my dad's sister, and my bubbie have come to visit my mom and dad on multiple occasions as well. There have also been various attempts to put our feelings to paper; my brother wrote an incredible essay (that unfortunately has not yet been published), and I wrote my musical composition. And perhaps most significantly, Zachary got to meet his grandfather when we came to town for his pidyon ha-ben, even if neither of them may have had much understanding or perception of the event.

A little over a month ago, the disease's latest turn left him mostly immobile and first wheelchair-bound, then bed-ridden. This past week, his ability to consistently swallow disappeared. At least he does seem to be at peace, and he is surrounded by those who love and care for him (both family and many friends have visited as well).

Which brings us to the simply surreal logistics of planning for what comes next -- discussions with cemeteries, funeral homes, etc. I still need to process these a bit, but I can at least report that so much of the "built-in" process for Jewish end of life traditions is focused on caring for the living, the family left behind. Even with the incredible support structure we have both here and in the cities where our family extends to, it's comforting to know that there's an extended procured period for processing and coming to grips with the reality of a relative's passing.

Sorry to write such a downer blog entry, but many friends had been asking and wanting to know what was happening. If you feel a need to take some kind of action immediately, there's no more appropriate time; it's curently Alzheimer's Awareness Month, and you can donate on the Alzheimer's Association website. Beyond that, thank you so much to all of our friends for looking in on Meh and Zachary, and for your thoughts and well wishes at this difficult time.