Kelley Irwin

#one day I understood that taking decision making away from Dad caused distress for him, and for me.

When a loved one has dementia and struggles to make decisions, it’s easy to think making the decision for them is kind.

EVERY time we were going to sit down – at the park, at the beach, and at every meal – Dad would find it difficult to decide where he wanted to sit.

Conversation one day in a dining hall…

Me: This looks like a nice spot for us. We can see the whole room and people watch. (A favorite activity for Dad all his life.)
Dad: I don’t know. (And walks away)

He now circles the room. Dad walks past each table, stops and sizes it up, looks back to make sure I am following, and moves on.

After 8 tables…
Me: Hey Dad. How about this one? We should pick a seat because they are getting filled up.
Dad: I don’t know if that’s the right one.

This continues. Dad literally checks each of the 20 tables in the room. He actually checks out 3 of them twice. Exercise completed.

Dad: I think this is a good one. What do you think?
Me: Looks perfect to me Dad. Good choice.

This table is the first one I recommended because I know he likes this spot. We’ve sat in these exact chairs many times before this day. We will continue to sit in these seats for months into the future. The routine will seldom change. I will never know if he remembered this was his favourite spot, or if he discovered it anew each time. Looking back, I assume the latter.

I learned along the way with Dad he enjoyed the hunt. Assessing, deciding, and claiming his win. While this specific choice could take up to 15 minutes, I realized it didn’t matter how fast we sat down or how many people were watching our procession. It did matter that he was happy. He felt some control and pride at a time that was not always possible. I didn’t know at first. How could I?

(photo of Dad with Tom Hanks)