Alzheimer’s

My dad has it.

Idk why but when I type that, it doesn’t sound good. Not to be like, “duh, it’s Alzheimer’s,” but It sounds like he has it. As if he’s defective for having a neurodegenerative disorder. And I can see why technically, that can be said but I don’t like the connotation that surrounds Alzheimer’s. Because with any bad, can come the good, and why do we fail to see this? 

There’s a stigma that surrounds having a disease where it’s instantaneously thought of as not a good thing. And I’m not saying it is a good thing, but I am saying it’s not always bad. And that’s the problem. Because even on the days when my dad is a bit off, he still has his bright and shining moments.

For instance, today, Tuesday, August 13, 2024. I popped into the TV room where my dad 98% of the time is and I asked him what he was doing. He instantly said “Reading about the Spanish Civil War of 1936.” And he proceeded to tell me about the heinous acts that took place. As he is telling me certain things, his face gets red and his eyes swell. 

He has reading glasses on but I can see through them that his eyes are tearing up. He is so hurt that people were filled with so much hate that they needed to harm a group of young girls walking to church and kill over 6,000 priests, all for what? Now, you might think anyone might have that same reaction but I wouldn’t be writing this if it weren’t a special case for my dad. My dad is the son of a Polish World War II survivor, Waleryian.

Waleryan was a Polish resistance fighter who fought for his survival on numerous occasions and eventually succeeded. The stories my dad was told as a child could make anyone shudder. From a young age, my dad would tell us about the atrocities that took place at the concentration camps and villages. Never did he shed a tear. He always remained stoic. His stories were not absent of violence against children or priests, in fact, they were frequent. 

So, when he sheds a tear telling me about what he recently read—it tells me so much. It puts into reality how much his brain is shifting and the effects it has on his emotions.

It tells me he can still focus on something, dive into it, and recite it. This helps me see that this part of his brain is still active. One of my favorite parts about my dad was his intellect. He has never once been excited about sports, gossip, or the traditional things parents talk about. He always loved talking about history and the sciences. Instead of watching Family Guy, an NFL game, or The Simpsons… we would be channel hopping between Antique Roadshow and Star Trek. I was raised with whatever was on National Geographic, Discovery, and History channels. And I love that he still has that. I never truly held an appreciation for it when I was younger, but now I do and I’m happy to relive those times again.

It also helps me see his emotions. Growing up and never seeing my father cry, never shying away from telling me things that other parents would probably shield their kids from—like who Charlie Manson or Josef Mengele were, and just being stern and put together while talking about them—it does something to you. Having been raised by him, I share many of his interests and although I am not as stern or stoic as him, I was a bit devoid of the human aspect towards certain things people would normally not want to talk about, like cult leaders and human experiments. His newfound ability to cry while reading or watching certain things makes him feel more human. It helps me understand the magnitude of what he’s researching which helps me be more sensitive.

So I guess I’m trying to say that no matter how small it might be, always look for the light. This is one of those moments where I feel special that he’s telling me certain things. At the end of the conversation, he said, “Well thank you for listening to me” and I said, “of course. I’m happy to” and I know it means a lot to him. And I truly am happy to listen to him. Because now things are different. I can tell he needs someone to listen.