The Mind Games of Alzheimer's

A very familiar story, of a daughter and her Father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s. Kathy Tyrer writes about her experiences visiting her Father throughout the progression of his condition, and on saying goodbye. This story touches on the question, “Who are we without our memory?”.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked me. He was about 84 years old and interested in a date. Sitting before him with my young son on my lap, I gave him the bad news: "No, but I have a husband and two kids. And I am your daughter, Dad."

My father's confusion was the consequence of his battle with Alzheimer's disease. One day he recognized me, the next, maybe not. Though my brain could process that, my heart could not. No matter how realistic I tried to be about my father's decline and our awkward exchanges, I found it impossible to accept that he really didn't know me.

Admitting to myself that we had lost our father-daughter connection even though he would be physically in my life for years to come was playing tricks with my own, still-intact brain.

"Does he still know who you are?" was the first question friends asked when they inquired about Dad. I explained that some days he would proudly introduce me around the nursing home: "This is my daughter, Kathy." Other days it seemed I was just a familiar face that he couldn't quite place. "Don't you live near the ocean?" he would ask, struggling for the pieces of memory that still floated through his brain.

My husband tried to reason with me. "You know that's not your dad anymore," he would say. But there were comforting reminders of my old dad. There were his laugh and traces of his old sense of humor. There was the familiar, confiding tone to his voice, even when he could barely form words.

His spirit would come, then float away.

Read More at Los Angeles Times: Health

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