jahrzeit

and other things

Today is the eleventh anniversary of my father’s passing. I always expected he would still be pottering about the planet in his nineties, soldering together his ridiculously flimsy candelabras, playing first violin in the university orchestra, devising yet another incredibly complicated Heath Robinson plumbing solution and planting eucalypts, callitris and banksia wherever he could squeeze them in. Instead it turned out he was one of those over-bright flames that devour themselves and burn out too soon.

Looking back we could see when the monster began to take hold. Pa began to address me as “Mrs Flint”, and to demand “where Mr Flint was” though by that time we had been firmly parted for a good fifteen years. He adopted sat nav (or whatever the equivalent was back in the early 2000s), not simply because he had always liked learning new technologies, but because he was hiding that his brain was no longer being sharp about getting him to familiar places. His personality began to switch from being all-embracing and welcoming of strangers to quite the reverse. There were other behaviours I will refrain from describing. By the time I managed to convince my mother that he wasn’t simply being contrary and that we needed to consult a neurologist he had become so paranoid about interventions that he refused to attend any further consultations. We had to keep the car keys secure to prevent him driving off randomly. When he switched from being a passionate conservationist to sneaking into my kitchen to pilfer matches and set fires under trees he had once loved it was clear that he would no longer be able to safely live at home, and my mother arranged for him to reside in a secure facility. I would not wish this on anybody but the possibility that he might engulf the entire district in a bushfire could not be discounted. It is gut-wrenching to write about this, but I do so in the hope that perhaps his story will help others.

If you begin to notice changes in the behaviour of someone you love, take notes. It may just be a minor aberration but if a pattern develops, take it seriously. There may be a medication that will help delay the onset of full-blown dementia, or at least soften it somewhat. Pa was offered something that was experimental but had already tipped over so far that he refused to accept it. I was in Scotland when he passed, having travelled there for a teaching engagement. I know that if he had been in his right mind he would have been delighted that I had been invited to speak at the Glasgow School of Art. His personal philosophy had always been one of “the show must go on”, so I did not cancel, but instead dedicated my talk to him.