Regrets

One day I sat with my father out on the patio in the backyard where I played as a child. And on this very patio he had helped me build my first darkroom. He told me a story about how his father, my grandfather, had asked him to help cut his toe-nails. My father said to me that he refused. He said it in such a way that I could tell that this was a great regret of his. I clipped my father’s toe-nails as well as his finger nails, I bathed him after I had changed his adult diapers and I shaved his grizzly whiskers which I knew he really appreciated...knowing that my regrets were so much more grave.

Strokes

Dementia can be caused by a series of small strokes (TIAs) which is what appears to have happened to my father. Because of these strokes my father is slowly losing the use of his left hand and the ability to walk and you can tell that it's also affecting one side of his face.

When we bring my father home from the VA facility my mother likes to give him a haircut so he stays looking sharp. Oh and I don't think he's giving me the "loser" sign...I think he's just "taking a picture" of me as I shoot a picture of him...well, maybe he is giving me the "loser" sign. And you can't tell in these black and white photographs but my dad has crystal-clear blue eyes. I think that's what nabbed my mom.

Landscapes

A couple more attempts at capturing the Salinas Valley landscape.

Water tower

During my stays with my parents I'll take a break and wander around the area of my childhood. It's still very beautiful in the Salinas Valley. As a kid I didn't realize what a gold mine it is for a photographer. Here are a couple of snaps that don't really do the area justice. The water tower is off the road that leads from my parents house toward Fort Ord, the old Army base where my father did his first basic training when he enlisted as a young man.

Fog

Several things are taking my father. There's the dementia but as bad, and at times worse, is the medications that he takes for it. He sleeps more and when he's not sleeping he seems to be in a daze. I try to keep him engaged. I try to break through to him. I talk to him even when he doesn't respond and even when he seems so far away. I try to talk to him about current events, sports or our past vacations. If he smiles, it's a victory, the jack-pot. When I'm there with him at home I take him out for walks. Only once did we end up on a lawn in a pile of legs, human and metal tangled up. I was able to break our fall and in fact it was quite a gentle touch down. But I could see in his eyes the fear and from then on I always had his arm.

A Family Affaire

My dad has been living at the VA facility in Menlo Park for the past couple of years. I try to visit every couple of months. I drive up from Pasadena, pick him up at Menlo Park then drive to his real home in Salinas, about nine hours in the car. I stay for a grueling five days. With my mother we are 24 hour a day nurses, cooks, physical therapists, a son and a wife. We feed him, bathe him and try to engage him both physically and mentally. By the time I take him back we are completely exhausted. Much of my parents’ daily worries fall on the shoulders of my sister, Liz, who lives nearby in Santa Cruz. She takes care of my parents’ bills, doctor appointments, long term care plans, taxes…pretty much everything my father used to take care of. When I’m not there, my sister and mother visit my father several times a week. But he still cries when I take him back to Menlo Park and have to leave him there. It really breaks my heart that I can’t keep him at home and care for him as he cared for us when we were children.

I know we’ll never regret the moments we spend together even under such stressful conditions. And, we even try to celebrate occasionally, like my father’s 77th birthday with my sister and mother.



My father in his room at the VA facility in Menlo Park.


My mom helping my dad eat dinner.



Happy 77th birthday!

Storm, Venice Beach

Portraits of my Father

My father always fancied himself a bit of a cowboy and he loved wearing western attire. I took this portrait of him a long time ago, way before digital and way before I thought it might be a good idea to be organized and keep track of things like the date. I love the grizzle and the bit of a playful smirk.




And this one I took of him in 2005, dementia was already taking it's toll on him and our family. I still like this one of him in his beret. I think it shows his sweet and trusting nature.

Walker

Here are a few more of my father when he was still able to walk just using the walker.

Grip

My dad grew up on a farm and because of that he always had a strong grip, all those cows to be milked and the pigs to be fed. When I was a boy we would wrestle…he would say “wrassle”. And he would grab me with this inescapable grip and would pin me to the floor. Sometime at the beginning of my high school years I was finally able to shoot for his legs and lift him off his feet. We never “wrassled” again. But he never lost his grip, even as he loses his motor skills his grip is as strong as I remember it. When I feel him grabbing onto my arm I feel he’s grasping for the things he knows, not wanting to let go.

More from the Arroyo Seco

Back to the River

The Arroyo Seco is one of many tributaries that feed the Los Angeles River and is close to my home in Pasadena. The beautiful Colorado Blvd. Bridge (sometimes known as Suicide Bridge) spans the river. There are several side streams and the vegetation is lush all-year long.