For the first two years, Dad and I were more like roommates. He was highly functional in many skill areas, mobile, had great stamina for walking, and just needed minor helps and assists from day-to-day. Years 3 and 4 were the period when he lost much of his ability to perform basic tasks, and I assumed a greater role and responsibility for his livelihood. While his decline was slow and obviously happening for a long time, it was only in the last year that I realized I had become his parent. And he was my boy! :)
He was childlike in so many ways. He learned to trust me, to depend on me, to love me in this new role, to respect me, and to take my advice to the extent he could do so. I helped him get up and dressed in the morning. I prepared his morning coffee. I helped him shave. I served the meals (mostly take-out, but my sister brought many meals for us in the evening to enjoy). I gave him his vitamins and meds to take. I bathed him. I washed the clothes. I took him shopping with me. I managed the house. I paid the bills. I cleaned our messes. I talked to him. I prayed with him. I got us ready for Sunday worship at the Chapel. I tucked him in at night. I told him I loved him and kissed him on the cheek. And just like a little kid, he always liked that. He would kiss me back and say "I love you too". I think he was reassured when I tucked him in at night, and that I was up and ready to greet him when he woke up the next morning.
Instead of subtracting from our relationship, his dementia added to it. He never ceased to be my dad, and nothing that we had together was taken from us, but we added a new relationship of trust, dependence, and faith, all of the elements found in a parent/child relationship, except I became the dad and he became the son. It was beautiful.
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