A Thousand Words

When I first heard about the party Dad's nursing home was hosting, I was really excited.  The Harvest Ball sounded like a great way to bring joy to the residents' often mundane schedule, meet their family members, celebrate the tireless work the staff does, and just have a good time.  The invitation said it was a "formal event", and with the help of the secondhand store owner I picked out a dashing outfit for Dad.  When I showed him the clothes he nodded in approval, and I told him he would be my special date at the party.  He agreed that an evening of music, dancing, food, and celebration would be fun. 

When my friend and I arrived last night, Dad was already dressed and in the main room.  For a brief moment I had tears in my eyes- he was cleaned, groomed, and more dapper looking than I had seen him in over a year.  It was quite a change from the usual sweatpants, drool, and stains from lunch that greet me.  Even at 85, he hasn't lost any of his handsome charm and he looked more elegant than ever.  As I walked over to him, however, I realized he seemed to have tears in his eyes as well.  At first, I thought maybe he was just overwhelmed by all the people and excitement, and I assured him that I would stay and we would have fun.  The band was playing some of his old favorites- Bye Bye Blackbird, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, and a stream of Sinatra classics- usually songs he enjoys.  Suddenly he muttered under his breath, "I can't stand the music", and then he said it louder.  I started singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," his reliable favorite, and he calmed down.  Although he still seemed irritated, I asked if he wanted to leave and he said no. 

We continued to sing along with the band, and I danced with some of the other residents and staff.  Picture a room full of octogenarians in their Sunday best doing the Funky Chicken and drinking O'Doul's, and you get the idea.  Although Dad wasn't smiling, he wasn't really complaining either, and except for a few brief spats of profanity he appeared less agitated.  He looked confused, perhaps perplexed, but not really upset, and insisted he didn't want to leave.  At the end of the night, I brought him back to his room and he thanked me for visiting.  The nurse said they would change him and give him his evening meds.   



The fear and confusion in his eyes is evident

 All day today I've been filled with guilt and uncertainty.  I'm questioning if I did the right thing by bringing him, given the bittersweet reaction he had.  He can be incredibly combative, and I'm sure it was a struggle for the staff to get him dressed, not to mention distressing for him.  Part of me wishes I had gone there earlier to help get him ready, but I know I can't be there all the time and need to set boundaries.  Although he said the music bothered him, he also was able to sing along and I want to think that the recognition was comforting to him.  I want to think that getting dressed up and having a distraction from his usual routine of dinner at 4:30p and spending the night in front of the television was stimulating, but maybe I'm wrong.  Was hearing the old music traumatic for him?  Was watching other people dance too much of a reminder of his own deterioration?  Was seeing his neighbors surrounded by loved ones difficult, given that he hasn't seen most of his family in years?  Should I have not taken him out of his regular routine, or challenged him to adapt?  Did I naively and selfishly think in some way that he would settle in and everything would be like "old times"?  He looks scared and perplexed in all the pictures we took, and I fear that maybe the evening did more harm than good.  Try as I do, I am having more and more trouble interpreting his words and actions and am scared that my good intentions sometimes don't come through.  I am left with knowing that my efforts will often not be enough, and it's distressing to try to accept.