September 16, 2008

  • Goodbye to an Old Friend

    I had an older sister who married young.  Her husband became like an older brother for me.  He was good natured, athletic, and had a can do attitude.  They often included me in their outings when I was a small boy and we developed a tight bond.  My brother in law taught me how to fish, play chess, and would take me to the movies.  Mostly scary ones.  He introduced me to the game of golf.  Self taught, I developed myself into a pretty good player.  I developed a passion for the game and it’s history.  As a kid, I saw the final game of a World Series because he wanted to take me.  He could have taken a friend or a client.  But he didn’t. 

    One summer, along time ago, our family spent a few weeks at the seashore.  Beach activities during the day, dinner, cards, and amusement rides at night.  I took along a friend from the neighborhood once and we had a great time.  A few weeks later, his family reciprocated and took me along on their beach trip.  What a perfect way for this boy to spend a good part of his summer.  Well, until girls came onto the scene.  Which wasn’t that far off looking back!  Somewhere into this vacation my friend and I had a quarrel.  I don’t recall over what.  I do remember at dusk climbing up the life guard stand and feeling out of sorts.  After a while, my brother in law climbed up to join me.  I suspect at the prodding of my sister.  We talked things over and he reassured me that I was probably right, and that everything would work out.  He was right.  And it did.  Good friends do that kind of thing by making an effort.  Simple acts sometimes leave lifelong memories.

    To be sure, he had his faults and those clearly had  a negative impact on his own family over time.  And yet, he loved my sister and was devoted to her.  He took outstandingly good care of her day and night while she was dying.  One of her last requests was that he and I would stay friends, regardless of what the future held, and that we would treat each other as brothers.  She knew without hesitation that I would remain loyal and would always be available to him day or night.  Her deep concern was for the well being of her husband and his stability as he would soon be left alone.

    After she passed, there was a quiet period where he needed to heal up.  We kept in close contact.  But it was never the same again.  The changes were very subtle at first. I was listening hard to determine his state of mind.  But my instinct told me something wasn’t right.  I was intuitively looking for something to explain the long time between communications.  I got all kinds of explanations about phones not working properly, or other things that seemed odd.  During my travels, I would periodically visit him, often unannounced.  Just like a did when I was a kid.  All of the signs ran contrary to how I was feeling.  The house was well kept, he was dressed rather nicely and was well groomed.  I let it go thinking I was just being over protective or just paranoid.  But that intuition….

    Over time my nephew began to tell me stories about his father’s detachment and lack of interest in things that he onced enjoyed.  I though that he was clinically depressed and tried to help.  I was politely rebuffed and with good humor to boot.  I knew I heard something in his voice.  But he would never ask for help.  Perhaps he was too proud.  Or, maybe his ego wouldn’t allow the “kid” inside his heart and mind.  But there were those certain activities wherein he would make simple mistakes.  Areas in which I knew he had a great command.  And then the long periods of no contact.  Sometimes he would come to work with his son, and then just drop out for a few weeks.

    This summer things began to spiral out of control for my brother in law. I will spare the reader the details but he was robbed and beaten in his own home.  Within days it was clear that he was losing his mental capacity.  At age sixty-two, he has been diagnosed with early onset of dementia at a rapidly advancing stage.  The right side of his brain is shutting down.  He walks like a man in his nineties and cannot speak complete sentences.  There is no evidence of a stroke or trauma to the head.  It is nature’s cruel way sometimes of painfully pulling the life from someone.  At this point, there is no reason to think he will ever leave a facility that does not offer 24 hour care.  I spoke with him recently and we shared a few good sentences.  I told him that I loved him and he told me that he loved me too.  Those are the little windows that you get to look through with such patients. 

    I heard the voice, the sound of this tragedy approaching, unable to prevent it in the least.  And unable to completely fulfill my pledge to my sister.  Having experience in this area, I was able to guide my nephew through the painful process of finding the proper care for his father.  It takes an incredible toll on the caregivers and can have a devastating affect on family members.  It changes people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.  But for the children of such patients, there duty is clear regardless of the cost or impact to their relationships and their very lives. 

    I do not miss opportunities to tell loved ones what they mean to me.  Waiting to say the simplest and kindest things has become quite easy.  Not to do so seems selfish at this point.  And it never costs as much as you think it might. 

    Oh, and about that boyhood friend.  When I got married he was my best man.  Though we live far apart, we have stayed close over the years.  A few summers ago we met again at that same seashore with kids in tow for a brief visit.  And he taught my children how to jet ski.  We discuss business and politics now.  Mostly politics.  He called me recently to remind me of a way too big high school reunion. We are all looking forward to it.

    And I will have one last chance to say goodbye to my old friend.  Though he may not understand,  I will tell that things did work out just fine with that old boyhood friend of mine.  And that he was right after all.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

Comments (2)

  • Wow, this is definitely a difficult thing to go through. We have a family friend who had early onset dementia in his 50′s. He gets worse everyday. It’s sad to watch people that you really care about fade away. This is definitely a striking story!

  • It does keep things in perspective.  Thank you for your comments.  BTB

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