My Dad Died of Alzheimer’s Last Week and It Wasn’t My Business to Save Him
16 Apr
Two years ago I packed up my apartment in California, said goodbye to my friends and my boyfriend, Julian, and drove out to Colorado with my daughter and a car full of our belongings.
My dad had been diagnosed with vascular dementia a few months before and my mom, who had just had a hip replacement, needed help taking care of him. The disease had come on slowly and, in his confusion, my dad had squandered their life’s savings. There was a lot to be done.
I stayed in the house for three months and then my brothers, a nephew, a niece, and a family friend took turns helping out after that.
It wasn’t easy, though, for any of us. My mom was a wreck. Who could blame her, I suppose – taking care of one husband that saw herds of elephants trampling through his bedroom, and one daughter, my sister, who had her own massive set of problems.







