Dear Readers,
Daddy David, also known as Papa, is my father-in-law. He was diagnosed with Dementia a few years ago, has multiple cognitive and physical health concerns, and lives with my husband and I. At this point with his memory deficits and mental deterioration, he can only be left alone for a few hours at a time. And you absolutely have to find the humor in his day to day, even if you have to look under a rock, in order to keep your sanity. So please, laugh with me and enjoy these demented tales.
Daddy David turned on the television and gasped. “Oh my goodness, that’s ‘Jaws’. I can’t watch that. It’ll upset me. I think it may even scare me. And it will really scare Socks.”
Socks is my old Birman house cat who barely opened an eye at the excitement from her kitty tower located in the far corner of the room. She couldn’t see the TV from her perch and doubt she’d do more than lick her lips at the large fish on the screen. But… okay, the shark would scare her. My response with only a small smile was, “It’s alright, calm down, we can fix this. I’ll help you find something good to watch.” He passed the remote to me, I found a suitable program, and left the room to work on edits for my latest WIP.
A bit later I returned to check on him. From the kitchen, I heard screaming from the TV and the cat darted past me, more closely resembling the bat adage than a cat. I walked in to find Papa bouncing on the edge of his recliner, covering his eyes, trying to cover his face with a throw blanket, and the remote sitting next to him. “Papa, are you watching Jaws again?”
His expression was sincere as he dropped the blanket to answer, “No, it’s ‘Jaws 3’.”
I shook my head. “Give me the remote.” He passed it to me and I found another suitable program.
Papa said, “Oh thank you, this is so much better.”
“Papa, you know you could have changed the channel?”
“I know, but I kept thinking it would have a happy ending if I just kept watching. But that shark really did scare Socks, and it made me shaky, then Socks jumped up and ran off. I think she thought the shark would eat her.” (Everyone is a scapegoat for him—big, small, or furry.)
“Papa, sharks on TV can’t eat cats in our house, because they’re not real. Most of those are robots, animatronic. You and Socks are safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Papa, I’m sure that shark isn’t real,” the discussion continued until, “and it can’t hurt us even if someone puts it in a truck and brings it here.”
“Papa, no one is going to bring that shark here to get you.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, Papa.”
I spent the next 30 minutes reassuring him it was just a movie, not real, and nobody really hurt the sharks. He wasn’t worried about the people whom were hurt, just the animals. Sheesh. It was safe to say no sharks were harmed in the making of “Jaws” or “Jaws 3”. I made sure to grab the remote before the next movie ended to find something funny for him to watch, and placed the remote far away from him to prevent him from watching any more of the “Jaws” movie marathon.
An hour or so and several conversational topics later he asked, “If someone does bring it here to get Socks, you will shoot it won’t you?”
It took me a minute to figure out to what he was referring, “Yes Papa, I will shoot the shark if it comes here. And then we can have shark steaks. They’re very tasty.”
“Is it dinner time, I think I’m hungry?”
And that was the end of the more than two-hour shark conversation. My brain was utterly taxed after that discussion with the Gremlin. And I thought I’d get to work on some edits. Joke was on me, and the Gremlin was the prankster. If I ever see Jaws again, it will be too soon.
The sad thing was, he really was afraid the shark would somehow come here on dry land and get him. Why did I put myself through this much torment? Because it was worth it to not have to medicate him. If I could just get him calm and feeling safe, then he wouldn’t need the extra happy pill.
So, here’s to the people munching, kitty chasing monsters of the deep—stay away from my house or I’ll shoot you.
P.S. For those of you who haven’t read, it was recommended we give his bad behavior or when he was being particularly difficult a nickname or code word. This is to let his caregivers be aware of his current state of mind without saying it directly and potentially upsetting him. This also prevents his care providers (namely my husband and me) from fully associating him with the behavior to lessen animosities and grief on both ends of the care spectrum.
P.S.S. So far, he responds well when we tell him, “Your Gremlin is showing,” or “Please cage your Gremlin.” He knows it means we are not pleased with his behavior and he needs to make a conscious effect to improve. Sometimes he sticks his tongue out at us, but usually responds in a favorable manner, despite outward grumbles.
Happy Reading and Big Deep Calming Breaths,
Carolyn Haven
