My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease almost 5 years ago. He is in otherwise excellent health; we regularly take 2-mile walks together without issue. Back in 2020, I had been in Corfu for the summer and decided with my family to come back to the US and collect my dad. He would stay with me for a month, so my mother could have a break. It was a surprisingly fun and easy trip. My dad, being the generally grateful and glass half-full type of guy, loved all the changes of scenery and people watching. The highlight for him was probably our layover in London Heathrow. We had an overnight flight, and he hadn’t slept a wink. In spite of that, he was eager to walk around the airport to see all the shops and check all the people out. He finally slept on the flight to Corfu, and when we arrived late that night at my house in the small village of Arillas, he asked, “So, can you take me home now?”
“Well, Dad, let’s talk about that tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep!”
In Greece, I have three ways of getting around: a bicycle, a tiny gas scooter, and a big old Italian motorcycle. Luckily, the village is small, so my father, and I could walk most places, but I knew eventually I would have to cart him with me when I went to the big supermarket in the next village. He’d never been on the back of a motorcycle or a scooter, and before his diagnosis, there was no way he would ever consent to riding on one. My motorcycle, I figured, would be too intimidating, and it was in the shop for repairs. With a little coaxing, I thought I might get him on the back of the little scooter. Well, no coaxing was necessary. As soon as he saw my little scooter, he asked, “That’s real nice, can I ride on it?” We took our first trip to Sidari, about 20 minutes away. There are few things in life sweeter than motoring through quaint Greek island villages on a sunny September day. My dad was fully appreciative, letting me know it was “real fun” and telling me, “Thank you, you’re a great driver.” As we headed through the last village on the way home, I thought to myself that though he was enjoying the ride, he wouldn’t remember it for perhaps only the next 15 minutes. That saddened me for a bit, but then I realized, at some point, I’ll forget about that ride. Was the experience any more or less valuable based on the length of time it would be remembered? I knew the answer was no. The joy of life is really in the moments. And that is what Alzheimer’s has shown me.
If my dad had had his memory, he never would have taken that ride. But his loss of memory let him forget about his inhibitions and gave him the freedom to just be himself in the moment. Besides the scooter rides, he danced on the beach, sat in a singing circle at my friend’s house and played the drums, and said to every woman he saw, “You’re a beautiful lady!” It wasn’t until the end of his stay that I picked up my motorcycle from the shop. As soon as he laid eyes on it, he said he wanted to ride on it!
I had an errand to run in Acharavi, about a 30-minute drive, and got my dad all bundled up for the trip. He’s not super flexible, so I had to park next to a big curb so he could climb down on to the seat rather than having to swing his leg up so high. The bike we rode was a Cagiva Gran Canyon, featuring a 900cc engine that could easily scare anyone out of their pants, even though it was 20 years old. My dad seemed overjoyed throughout the ride, though if he had remembered anything, he might have given me a lecture on my exuberant driving style. We took a few more rides together that trip, and those moments will stay with me for a long time.
From a broader perspective, we are all multidimensional, infinite beings focused into these bodies to have a human experience. Even if our physical minds cannot recall certain events, they can still enrich our greater selves in ways which may be beyond our understanding. Seeing my father enjoy his time in Greece has inspired me to let go of the things that hold me back from experiencing joy fully and authentically. I intend to do so with full surrender, releasing old patterns and embracing my most joyful, authentic self.
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