Don’t I care about losing my Dad?

My father passed away this week. I have written before about him. He has had advanced Alzheimer’s for several years and in recent times has been a shell of what he was. He knew no-one, could not communicate, could not understand, was incontinent and immobile. It made me deeply sad and angry. I still expected however, that when he passed I would be upset. And yet this week I have been very matter of fact, getting on with the logistics. I am definitely more relieved than grieving. So am I kidding myself? Will this come and hit me later? Or did I do my grieving as he deteriorated and I lost the father and man he once was?

Rev. Brian James Coleman 1936-2022

He was a traditional father. I don’t remember him ever hugging me. There were four of us children and as we grew up he was always there for us, but in a quite hands-off way. If we had an intellectual argument he became engaged and was fascinated. He was less good with emotions. This is a little odd because he was a parish priest, and empathy with people in tough situations was part of the job. I think it was just that underneath the image of the vicar, he was always a shy man. I think he was proud of me. I was certainly proud of him.

I do have very happy memories of him. We were lucky to have a stable and safe family environment. There was never much money around, but he kept us clothed and fed. I would add “warm” but we grew up in cold, draughty vicarages where you would wake up to ice patterns on the inside of the bedroom windows. But I am not complaining. That was normal in our generation and we were happy. And we were free. He and our Mum always encouraged our independence. I could leave the house first thing and not return till dusk. From an early age I would go to cub camps, or music weekends by myself. I learnt to be self reliant, in terms of my physical and emotional needs. It made me who I am.

This week I have loved reading the many “With Sympathy” cards that my Mum has received. Dad was involved in many clubs and activities and was held in great respect. What I have loved the most is that these memories are all of how he was before the awful disease took him away. It has helped me remember that man. I loved him.

Bye Dad x

How am I supposed to feel about a father with advanced Alzheimer’s?

For the first time since the pandemic started I was free to go and see some of my relatives this week. I had a great time, driving around the UK and visiting my sister, one of my brothers & his wife, my mum and one of my aunts. I am feeling a little guilty about others I did not see, but it was still a really good week. I also managed to get a number of “jobs” done including sorting out my mum’s loft, helping her buy a car, and getting my aunt to sign sixty sheets of paper for her powers of attorney. In many ways I feel very satisfied. But one visit has left me sad. For the first time in two years, I was allowed to see my dad face to face in the nursing home where he lives and is looked after. He has advanced Alzheimer’s.

Let me tell you about my dad. He was a Cambridge graduate in the Classics, who then went on to study Theology and became a vicar in the Church of England. He led churches in Derby, Salisbury, Matlock, Frimley and Guildford. He was involved in amateur dramatics. He collected old newspapers. He became fascinated by the Lutheran church in Germany and learnt German so that he could visit and find out more. He was introverted but pushed himself out of his comfort zone to stand up in a pulpit every Sunday. I love and admire my dad.

He started getting confused about eight years ago, and he deteriorated relatively quickly, By four years ago he was in a home, and when I saw him last time, he did not know who anyone was and was fully reliant on care. But there was still something there – just a spark in his eyes when he listened to music, or looked through pictures in a book. He had to be hoisted and he spent the days with others in the lounge, and in his room at night. Just occasionally when I spoke to him, there was the glimpse of a smile and I could imagine some kind of connection.

When I saw my dad this week that spark had gone. He is now in his room the whole time. He seems to be just a shell.

Of course I realise that no-one knows what is going on in my dad’s head. Perhaps there is still something there. And I am glad that I went to see him. But I feel such a sense of loss. He is gone but he is alive. I can’t say goodbye but nor can I connect. I just feel sad. And I feel guilty for feeling sad while he is alive.

Have you had a similar experience? How did you manage how you felt?