Daddy's Girl

My Dad started his cognitive decline about 13 years ago. He worked until he was 80, but it became too much for him. He was too tired. He began to have a few falls. He quit drinking wine in an effort to help his brain at the advice of a neurologist. He began walking daily a few years later. He and my mom moved to a small town about 3 hours away, where a unit had opened in a building my cousin owned. They seemed to be managing, with a little help from a neighbor to get groceries. My Aunt would take them to doctor appointments.

Then two years ago my parents both had falls in the same week. My siblings and I were able to hire a full time caregiver who is an angel. My Dad started wandering and falling when he would go for walks. The scariest was on a Saturday afternoon. My Mom called and said "Your Dad has been gone a long time." The police got involved this time. Their dogs sniffed my Dad's clothes in order to track him. They found him asleep in a school playground. After that, he was forbidden to go for walks.

The fall seemed to change my Dad. He had delirium, according to the Doctor at the hospital. He started talking like a conspiracy theorist. He seemed confused. Around that time he stopped saying my name.

I know now that he fades in and out of awareness of who people are around him. He didn't recognize my son's when they came to visit. He called my daughter and I "the girls," at a recent visit. I pulled out photos of my Dad holding me as a child and I told him that it was us. He said he didn't recognize himself, or me.

One day my youngest daughter saw me looking sad about my Dad and she said, "I'm sorry Mom, I know you are a daddy's girl." I don't remember ever calling my father daddy, but I realized she was right. My Dad has been my hero all my life.

One of my earliest memories is of my Dad giving me a hug, after I hid in the bathroom from my Mom trying to give me my insulin. I was about five years old and I was diagnosed type 1 diabetic at three years old. My poor Mom had to give me insulin injections daily. One day, I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I did not want another shot. I yelled the few bad words I knew. Somehow my Dad got me to open the door. He picked me up and hugged me. I thought I was in trouble, but he showed me kindness. When I brought up to him as a young adult, he said, "I thought you needed a hug."

My Dad is 91 now, and he still gives me great hugs. He is kind and friendly, even if he is unsure of who I am. He has some sun downing where he yells, but it's over the news. I miss the conversations we used to have. My Dad was highly intelligent, and funny. I credit him with my interest in books. My Dad collected books and I grew up with a home library. He taught me how to shot a hoop as a child, and took me on runs with him. He also believed in my dream to be a writer. He told me, "write about what you know," when I started writing stories as a child. When I became a teen, he always answered the phone with, "Kathleen!" like I had been gone for years. It always cracked me up.

My Dad eventually pushed me to get out of an abusive relationship, by promising to pay my bills until I was on my feet. He was a doting Grandfather to my six children. He was a stable father figure to them too.

I am my father's daughter, a daddy's girl, and I am proud of it.