Changing Daddy’s Diapers

In 2005 I moved from Virginia back to Michigan, where I had been born and raised, to care for my aging father as he progressed through the final stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Things weren’t too bad when I first moved back home, but the next two years saw a steady decline both physically and mentally for my father.

When it became apparent that he was no longer able to determine when he needed to release urine and or feces, we began using the adult, disposable diapers. I guess it stands to reason that dying is perhaps just a returning to our beginnings…

As the illness and physical struggles of a loved one begin to overwhelm the caregiver, we often lose sight of our own beings. We become totally immersed in the daily care, the appointments, the feeding schedule and everything involved in taking care of a person who has lost that ability, including changing daddy’s diapers. But changing diapers can sometimes lead to other realizations, at least with an Alzheimer’s patient.

As I was preparing my father to attend our annual family Christmas gathering, he was attempting to use the toilet while I removed his soiled diaper. He was rather mushy that morning – not really helping any, but not fighting me either – just a pliable, doll-like figure, following instructions. Once I got the clean diaper in position around his shins, I sat on the edge of the tub to wait for his efforts to conclude so I could clean him up and pull the diaper up completely.

As I looked at my father’s eyes, I saw what appeared to be a curtain behind his eyes slowly open (really, that was the sensation I had as this happened – it was like watching a curtain open). My dad looked at me, and with seriousness and clarity of vision I hadn’t seen lately he said, “You know that I’m dying?”

“Yes, dad. We know. We aren’t looking forward to it, but we are OK with it if you’re ready to go. Are you ready?”

With a twinkle in his eye I hadn’t seen since I was a kid, a huge grin spread across his face and he replied, “Nope, not quite yet…”

And as quick as that - the curtain closed and he retreated to wherever he spent his mind-time during that period. He was back to being a slightly pose able life-sized robot. He would move his limbs, walk haltingly, sometimes feed himself – but he was basically a shell. But I changed after that day.

That moment of clarity, which lasted only seconds, taught me that no matter how much of a pain in the ass it was – I would never again regret changing daddy’s diapers. That moment taught me that my dad was still in there, somewhere.

There were other small moments of clarity during my care giving period, but none as clear and meaningful as that one, for those brief few seconds. When my father passed the following February, I knew he was ready. As Father’s Day approaches, I sit here in tears typing this, remembering my dad, my hero, as he was while I was growing up. He’s been gone seven years now, but that moment still seems like yesterday.

Enjoy your dad. If he’s still alive, go visit him and spend time with him. Take him a new tie for Father’s Day.