Just A Few Thoughts

My father’s brain works mightily to convey thought. Unfortunately, it more closely resembles an engine with only one cylinder firing than a well-oiled machine. He strains to retrieve words. He strains to make and voice the connections between his thoughts. To the observer, the logic is partial and fleeting, but his synapses only randomly obey their master, and his meaning must be second-guessed, buried, as it is, beneath layers of inefficacy and forced inarticulateness. With patience and concentration, however, his logic can be discerned. Sometimes.

My father flew jets in the Navy and then went on to government and private sector work in the defense industry. He prided himself on his analytical abilities, on his proclivity for detailed and thorough and thoughtful analysis of complex issues. He reveled in his talent to deconstruct problems and synthesize solutions. Smart man. Alzheimer’s disease has managed to corrupt the connections in his brain, though, and refuses him the satisfaction of cogent thought. His pride and joy has been taken from him, wresting away a large element of his self-worth and personal concept of his own identity. I imagine this is in itself depressing. Very.

Shorn of his long held concept of himself, it is no wonder that my father at times exhibits stark confusion. He forces himself to reign in the fear associated with these moments, gradually realizing where he is, who he is, hopefully who others are. Like the first few moments as one awakens from a dream, he faces the curious dilemma of having to establish what is real and what is fantasy. Like the awakened sleeper, he gradually becomes aware of what is around him. Unlike the fortunate sleeper, though, he does not come to the eventual awareness of being fully awake. His world is informed by confusion throughout the day. I often wonder what his dreams are like. I must ask him some day. Soon.