My Father’s Memories by Laura H.
When I was seven years old, my dad was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s
disease. This means that he is dying faster than most people. Alzheimer’s is a form of
dementia in which the brain deteriorates itself and the person with it begins to forget not
only themself but everyone around them, too. Normally, people don’t get Alzheimer’s
until they are well over sixty-five, but unfortunately, my dad got it at forty-six.
I believe that life isn’t fair. Why does a seven-year-old girl have to learn to accept
that her dad will eventually forget who she is, and then forget himself? My dad knew
that this disease meant that he had limited time left, so he made the most of it.
Every summer we would go fishing at a family friend’s pond. To get there, we
would have to hike through knee-high weeds carrying five-gallon buckets. Dad said the
buckets were to put in the fish we caught, but he always let me flip one over and sit on it
so I didn’t have to sit on the ground. I know that those days were more of a hassle for
dad than anything but he still took me out anyway. I believe it is the little things in life
that make the unfairness worth it. Sure, I might have gotten the bobber stuck in the tree
limbs next to me when I tried to cast my line, and, yeah, I made him carry the full
buckets back to the car, but to him, those are memories that he will never have the
chance to make again. My dad may never get to walk me down the aisle at my wedding
or hold his grandchildren, but he did get to hold his little girl on his lap at the Kingwood
picnic and teach her how to hold a fishing pole, so to him, these little things make life
worth living.
Recently he has been getting worse, forgetting more common things like words
for items and plans that we made, but we are soon doing something together again. He
always loved Erie, so this summer my family is going up to Erie for a week. He is really
excited and even though he probably won’t remember the trip after we get back, seeing
him happy while we are there will make it worth the hassle.
With a current diagnosis of approximately five years left to live, life isn’t fair. It
isn’t fair to me, it isn’t fair to my mom, but most of all, it isn’t fair to my dad. I believe that
life is unfair. Life gives and life takes, but I believe that what matters most in life is what
you do with the moments in between.
