Chapel Words

Posted 4/24/2015

My Dad is My Hero!

On Thursday morning, we were treated to a beautiful tribute by a grade 10 Groves' House student:

My dad is my hero. He’s witty, a social butterfly, and can never fail to solve an awkward silence with a room full of laughter. But, that’s not why he’s my hero. I still remember when we used to fly kites and go to car shows and do all the things we both loved, but that’s not it either. My dad has dementia. He was diagnosed five years ago and since then a lot has changed. He lives in a care home, uses a walker (his name’s Wally, the Walker) and the fact is, I’m lucky he still remembers my name. But, this isn’t about me – this is about my dad and what made him my hero.

It’s easy to define dementia on paper, but although I’ve read the pamphlets and medical journals I can honestly say it’s a lot different than most people expect. If you’re familiar with the disease, you probably understand some of what I’m talking about, but for those of you who aren’t, I’ll break it down. Dementia is an umbrella term for the loss of cognitive function. It’s everything from Alzheimer’s to Parkinson’s to early onset dementia, which has affected my life the most. Basically, it’s when you slowly forget who you are. With my dad, it was like everything I’d ever known was slowly crashing down. It started with memory, forgetting what time of day it was or how to turn on the TV, even the calculations I had learnt in grade two were a mountain to climb. Then went speech – he began stuttering, stumbling over words getting lost mid sentence and often when he did find the words to say, he was unable to filter his thoughts. Then went his balance, shuffling, stumbling just trying to get around and I slowly watched and continue to watch him lose grip of his identity. He lost his driver’s license, became medically retired and is constantly facing a never-ending path of obstacles every day. But five years ago, I’m not sure how I ever imagined it would turn out.

When my dad was first diagnosed, it’s easy to say I went through the stages. I mean, how exactly do you tell an eleven year old their dad isn’t really their dad anymore? I couldn’t even begin to believe, let alone understand what was going on. I went through denial and isolation, surrounding myself with school or dance to avoid facing the situation head-on, but sooner or later, I began to accept what was happening. It wouldn’t be my dad watching over me anymore, instead, at eleven years old, I had become the parent watching and caring for my own dad. Last year, in February, is when it really hit me, when my dad was moving into assisted living, something a few years back I imagined wouldn’t happen for another 20 years. It was then when I began realizing that you will never be able to control your life, the least you can do is “roll with the punches” as my sister and I like to say.

But more than myself, the way my dad has handled what’s going on is why he’s my biggest hero. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose your identity or go through anything near to what he faces every day, especially without any control of it, but the best example I have happened to me a almost a year ago. I was dancing almost 20 hours a week, something that defined who I am more than anything else, when one day I landed on the side of my foot and tore what I was told were 3 major and 2 minor ligaments in my right foot. It’s a little hard to dance when you can’t move your ankle! Suddenly, I hit a brick wall. I wouldn’t be able to go audition for dance schools, and I would be out anywhere from 6 weeks to 4 months and maybe more. It felt like I was lost in completely common ground. That being said, I injured my foot, which thankfully healed. My dad on the other hand, isn’t so lucky. He’s faced with a brick wall I could never imagine running into. I lost my ability to dance, while he’s losing his ability to live.

While my dad continues to jump over hurdles, there are some mountain sized hurdles I’ve had to accept over the years. Chances are, my dad won’t be able to walk me down the isle, watch me graduate university or even come to grad or closing day in grade twelve. But either way, I wouldn’t trade my dad for the world. Even mentally disabled, he tries so hard to be there for me whenever he can. He may not be able to hold a conversation, but he’s still the wittiest man I know. We may not be able to fly kites, but if you got one anywhere near him, I’m sure he’d try. He may not always be able to express it, but I know he loves and cares about me more than words could even explain, and for someone losing grip on who they are, I think that’s pretty remarkable.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt in the past few years is that it’s easy to let the negative things get you down. Whenever my dad was having a bad day and it felt like things would never change, I realized that it is what it is and I might as well make the best of it. Just the other day, Lake's House spoke about the importance of character, and I have no doubt the experiences I've faced though this journey with my dad are one's I will hold with me forever. They say a smooth sea never made a skillful sailor, just as a life without challenges will never be living at all. All you can do is roll we the punches and face each day with a smile, something I challenge all of you to do every day.

There's a reason I've shared such a large part of my life with all of you. They say life happens when you're busy making other plans, something I couldn't stress enough. I've learnt first hand that you'll never be able to control the way the wind blows, but you can always control how you react to it. The day after I injured my foot, I toured here at Shawnigan, easily the best thing that could have come of the worst situation. My dad may have dementia, but that will never be a burden. I have a dad who still loves and cares about me and that’s the best I could ever ask for. Everyone has a story, including me. My dad has dementia, and fact is, I’m lucky he even remembers my name. Nevertheless, he’s my hero and I’ll always be his little girl.

Photo by Stephen Lane

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