Every night before leaving Dad, I move in close and say, “Arlabunakti” (Good night). Initially, when I started these nighttime visits, I was amazed to hear Dad reply “Arlabunakti” back to me. But you know how things go: new becomes normal. Then, one night, Dad surprised me with a next-level followup. “Kā ar buču?” (What … Continue reading Bedtime chronicles of dementia care
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Nighttime rituals in dementia care
It’s my birthday, and we’re cancelling the 6:30 dinner reservation. It’s around that time when my dad wanders into other residents’ rooms and exhibits combative behaviour, something I’ve never witnessed. I’m no professional, but it seems Dad needs care and comfort, not more medication or police threats. Over the past few months, my daytime calls … Continue reading Nighttime rituals in dementia care
The call
My iPhone rings, and Dad’s face lights up the screen. “Please talk to your father,” says the personal support worker. I try to ask what and why, but the PSW interjects. “Just talk to him,” she says firmly. * I’ve received calls like this several times over the past few months. Dad doesn’t know how … Continue reading The call
Thursdays with Dad
Let’s make sure we bring Kleenex, I say to Dad as we prepare for choir practice. “Why?” he asks. Because you’re going to cry. “How do you know?” he asks. Because you always do, I say. When we started singing in the Latvian seniors’ choir, Dad would laugh and tell me there’s no way I … Continue reading Thursdays with Dad
Postcards from my brain 