I miss the passion my father had for anything new. He always told me if you ever wanted to learn something about life, it’s probably written in a book. And to that end, he collected book after book, signing it “Mendoza Library” on the inside cover.

I remember how my dad was the life of the party. Circling from group to group, cracking jokes, entertaining kids, sharing stories. My mom, often had to pry him from social gatherings, and parties. When I was 11, he asked me to dress up in a suit, and whisked me away to a San Francisco city function. I don’t recall the context, but he had me socialize with political folks within the city, Mayor Agnos, Chief of Police Jordan, key leaders in the Filipino community.

I miss his writings, how he was once in the Methodist seminary, and helped write sermons and speeches for friends, family and me. The “Genghis is my name, and Winning is my game” slogan which promptly won the position of Freshman class president, was his ghostwriting in action.

I miss his giving and volunteer spirit. He was the first to take on roles in the community that often gave back to other people. He was once a volunteer to counsel people going through grief from the loss of a loved one. He was also WPL’s 4th – 6th grade Soccer coach, all because I told him we don’t have a soccer team, because we had no coach. He jumped at the opportunity, not knowing a thing about soccer. He picked up books about the sport, taught it and learned with us. Needless to say our initial record in the fourth grade was losing a 0-1-7 record. He kept at it in the 5th grade and eventually brought us to a CYO playoff spot in the 6th grade.

There are so many other things I miss about him, but if you happened to know him and he’s influenced you in some way, I’d love to hear your memories of him. Please share…

It’s been almost a year since the last time I’ve written anything, and I’d chalk it up to moving on, however I’d say that’s simply a cop out. There’s a part of me that has learned to let go, but every so often I lapse, and think about how my father used to be. In recent months I’ve been compelled to write, for other reasons, but this past weekend, spending time with extended family, I came to understand something about coping with this disease.

Alzheimer’s breaks not only the individual, but the social network around the individual. Caregivers who learn to make the adjustments, can’t do it alone. It’s often the support of family members and friends, often going above and beyond to check in and make an effort to support the ones affected. And when I say the one’s affected, I mean the primary caregivers like my mom.

I used to be angry at those who opted to be selfish and focus on themselves. Immediate family members who only stopped by when they wanted something. Friends who were around when everything was fine, but suddenly vanished and moved on, because they did not know how to handle the stress of listening.

All that anger crippled me, to the point of desperation. And when you’re placed in that situation, you begin to block everyone and everything. It wasn’t until I met someone, who made me realize that reaching out to find support, in different forms, was the only true means to tackle the difficulty involved with Alz. No one person can handle the struggles of losing someone daily. It takes effort to reach a point where you can be ok with the changes. Finding a way to eventually move on.

Now I am a point where I want the ones who have strayed away from our lives, to realize that time is short. The moments of my dad’s memories are fleeting. You have a short time to make an effort and cherish who he was for you in your life. Whether he was a close friend, a caring brother, a loving uncle, a coach, a mentor or father figure to you; these moments you create with him today are not only his, but yours to hold dear. This is your time to let go, just as much as it’s my father’s. This is your time to reach out and tell him how much you love him, before the day he simply forgets who you are.

A part of learning to let go, is accepting and cherishing the moments you have left. Embrace them and live with the memories you have yet to create.

“This is the first study, to our knowledge, to show that not only high cholesterol, but also borderline high cholesterol, is associated with dementia,” says Dr. Rachel Whitmer, senior author in the study.

Finding out things that prevent the onset of Alzheimer’s is another step in improving your lifestyle and health now and later in life. Having a healthy heart, leads to a healthy mind. This is an important step in prevention rather than resigning that Alzheimer’s just arrives due to old age.

“We need to start thinking about risk factors for dementia in middle age, and cholesterol is a risk factor for dementia that is somewhat modifiable,” said Whitmer, a research scientist and epidemiologist at the Kaiser Permanente Division of Research in Oakland, California.

Just something to think about for caregivers fearing their health.

This can be easily applied to anyone trying to cope with stress and frustrations of living. Learning to keep a smile and hold on to the good that happens in your life is a harder task than it sounds. Often a caregiver is the brunt of blame or accusations for the patients current dilemma. Learning to let go of the simple frustrations, on top of the things that may compound a situation, can root you in the present, and help you through your day.

One day I stopped by my parents place to check in on my father. As soon as I walked through the door, he already looked flustered. He was searching for his eyeglasses. I spent half an hour searching the house for them. I finally found the glasses sitting on the bathroom counter. I gave them to him, and within 5 minutes he had lost them again. These are small inconveniences that can add much more stress and trouble than it’s worth. If I were to take it personally and let the best of the situation take hold, snapping back at him in frustration, it would have brought both of us in worse moods. I smiled my way through it, and looked at my father. He smiled back, and I noticed they were in his shirt pocket. I prompted him to look in his pocket, allowing him to search and find them on his own, and he was pleased to know they were there as well.

Learning to adjust to simple inconveniences with a smile, allows you to manipulate caregiving situations to your advantage. It keeps you positive rather than piling the simple frustrations till you can’t take it anymore.

My family and I have been fortunate enough (if you can call it that) to relate to the former. It’s given us time to recognize and prepare for what’s to come. This allows us to make the most of the time with my father. Recently I’ve been taping conversations both audio and video, trying to capture as much as we can to remember who he is rather than what’s to come.

I know that the changes affect my father day to day. You can see if he’s having a good day or bad day as soon as you walk through the door. On the good days he instantly responds and smiles to your presence. Cracking jokes or asking about the people he cares about.
On the bad days, his eyes look lost and agitated. You can sense he’s trying to grasp where he is. There are times when you see depression set in, his face and emotion withdrawn in complete disarray. He’s at a state where he clearly understands he has Alzheimers. When his emotions kick in and are confused by his memories, he’ll often have fits and arguments, trying to reconcile his memory with reality. After the episode he realizes what he’s done and falls into a bit of sadness, knowing he’s emotionally hurting my mother when he doesn’t mean to. It’s hard on him, but I know it’s harder on my mother who is the primary caregiver.

She has come a long way to accept what’s going on, but the daily stresses of my dad’s incessant questions, bouts of anger and confusion, and simple tasks of caregiving are taking a toll. My brother, wife and I take turns checking in on him daily, but there are times when my mother is to afraid to burden or ask for our help. It’s frustrating when my dad’s own brothers and sisters live their own lives not caring enough to check in, or watch or even know how he’s doing. It angers me so much that they treat him like he’s already gone. Most of them rarely visit. Only one truly comes around often enough showing compassion. I’ve distanced myself from my father’s relatives because of it. I hate that my mom has to reach out to them. They should take proactive steps to spend time with their brother. Yet they selfishly focus on their own lives. This sounds like another post, and it most likely will be. For now I’m venting.

We take his moments day to day, more so than in the past. We know he has an off day when his face changes. There are also moments now, when we see part of the depression set in. We try to keep him in positive spirits, and for the most part, he tries to keep himself in positive spirits when he forgets things.

Take another look. The ones who stick around and are there for you, are the ones you want to have around. The ones who simply ask, “Hey, how are you doing?”, are like lifeguards sending you a lifeline. These are the people in your life, you may least expect to be there for you. Who come in the form of a phone call, or a quick visit. These are the people that will help nurture you in different ways. Accept every bit of support that each person brings, and know the type of relationship they are willing to commit. Not everyone will be there to watch over your loved one. But they can be there to make you laugh, remind you what life is like, to take a break and breathe just for a second.

The stress and pressure surrounding the affects of Alzheimer’s socially is far too much to handle alone. Reaching out to those who lend a hand is extremely important. Reaching out to Alzheimer’s support groups or phone lines can help when the pressure seems unbearable. Releasing the tension one feels is important in handling the stress related to the disease. Not everyone feels like they can sit in a group of strangers and share their thoughts and emotions with them. But its those experiences that are commonly shared in a support group that remind the caregiver, “I am not alone”. Most often a problem will come up during a support group. Someone will mention something about a missing wallet for instance. The rest of the group will listen and share tips and tricks that helped them deal with the situation. It’s extremely important that you take the proactive step to find someone who cares.

Grow and nuture your network. Weed out and kick to the curb, those who pay no mind. They were never worth having in your life, if they can’t see past themselves. Reach out for help from anyone who offers
it. But most of all, be proactive and find a means to unload the stress that builds within you. You’ll be saving yourself and building up the strength you need to cope.

At times, I see snippets of how our family reacts to the situations and experiences we deal with daily. I can only imagine my mother’s heartache when she’s filled to the brim with stress and anxiety, when my father acts up. I relate with the caregivers who feel secluded and become isolated because my father’s brothers and sisters stop caring, stop visitng, or stop thinking about him. I relate with the experiences of those who see their social life change, because people begin to let go as soon as they see something they can’t handle. Best friends you think would stick by you through thick and thin, suddenly vanish because they don’t know how to respond. You begin to weed out those in your life who are selfish, negative or don’t have the strength or love to give you. You begin to reinforce yourself with those who show love and kindness, compassion and patience. This helps build the emotional muscle to deal with what caregivers have to see and feel everyday your loved one goes through their struggle. I relate to those who share their experiences and those who are brave enough to face what lies ahead. This documentary speaks for them.

This is where I am sometimes question if my father should continue the treatment. He is at a stage in the disease, where he is no longer the father I used to know as a child. It takes a bit more patience and a lot more effort to help do the day to day tasks. The past week and half has been difficult. I often have to find a way to keep him pre-occupied, so he doesn’t have to worry about constantly searching for his wallet, his glasses, an appointment he’s already had, or what day of the week it is. It takes patience and a willingness to be there for him. And as frustrating as it can be sometimes, I do have moments, where I am glad he is still around. I smile when he remembers a memory that maybe I’ve forgotten. Something from his childhood, or maybe its about a time when my brother and I were kids. Those moments are few and far between, but when they do arrive, I sometimes well up in tears.

There is hope, and someday there may be a cure. It’s all I can wish for.

Sometimes I just watch my father from the next room. I often wonder where my father is today. I’ve noticed the changes through the years. The memory loss is apparent. The mood swings come from left field, but I learn how to deal. The slow change and de-evolution of a spirited man to a shell of his former self, pains me when I think about it. I’ve learned not to think about these things, because it takes me away from the moments I have left.

Somewhere between thoughts and emotions lies the memory of the man who taught me to be who I am today. This is the place I will always want my father to be. For me, my father is a figure fixed in the person I’ve become today. This is just another way I get through a difficult day.

Every Saturday morning, my parents had a weekly ritual. They would wake up and head to the Alemany Farmer’s market (off the 101/280 interchange). They’ve been going ever since I was a child. There they would bring back fruits and vegetables you wouldn’t be able to find at your local grocer. Everything from stalks of sugar cane to greens that I can remember the tagalog name for.

There happens to be one filipino delicacy my dad loved bringing home. It was always his special treat that he looked forward to having every week. Balut. He would bring two cartons of balut home to last him a couple weeks. If you don’t know what balut is, it’s a fermented duck egg that is half in embryonic stage, and half duck. (It was a food they put on that show Fear Factor, as a challenge for contestants to eat. Right up there with the grounded worms and maggot shake.)

My father gets flustered in crowded areas. It’s the bustling crowd and people that distract him from what he sets his mind to. On this occasion my father was walking back to the car, with his delicious treats in hand. (Delicious can be relative dependent on acquired tastes and experiences of the individual). He wandered for about 5 minutes till he found a car with the trunk open. He placed his cartons of balut in the back of the vehicle, and a grumpy old russian man suddenly starts blurting out words my father could not understand. The grumpy old man inspects the trunk and closes it, motioning my father to go away. My father tries to explain to him that he placed his treats in the back of his car, mistaking it for his own. Unfortunately the old man didn’t understand a lick of English and sent my father away.

My dad was furious when my mom had found him near the car. He explained the scenario to her, and they went off looking for the man who took my dad’s special treats. Alas they never found the grumpy old russian. They then went to get another two cartons from the stall selling balut.

When they came home, my mother explained what happened to them at the market. We sat around the breakfast table having coffee and putting away groceries. My dad told me his experience with the old russian man. I could tell from his face that he was still a little flustered. But as he continued on with his story, he smiled. And towards the end he was chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” , I ask.

My father replied in laughter, “I wish I could be there to see the old man try to use the eggs for his omelot only to find him screaming and yelling to his wife that the eggs were overcooked.”

We all laughed in tears at the kitchen table.