The Chief

For the longest time, people referred to my dad as "The Chief".  He was actually one of the youngest soldiers to make chief at that time in the history of the Air Force.  These first two pictures were actually taken well before he was chief.  We lived in Guam at the time on the edge of the jungle.  I was only 2 at the time so I don't remember our first tour in Guam at all. My mom told me once that I was scared to death when my dad walked out into the water that day, but I always knew that I was safe when my dad was nearby.

My dad has always been an "in charge" kind of guy and a little bit of a control freak, but as he advances in age, it is becoming increasingly harder to maintain that edge especially with something that one can't control. My mother's memory loss is having a huge effect upon my father. Not too long ago during the middle of the day, my phone rang. My father doesn't usually call me during the middle of the day so I thought it odd that it rang once and hung up.  Thirty seconds later, it happened again. I dialed him up and asked him if anything was wrong. He was frustrated and then proceeded to tell me that my mother wanted my phone number.  However, being technology illiterate, he didn't know how to access his address book on the cell phone so he would dial me up, write down a couple of numbers and hang up until he had my complete number written down.  I said, "Dad, why did you need my phone number?" He then proceeded to tell me that my mom insisted that my Aunt Dort (who died this past December) needed my phone number and address and she wanted my dad to write it down so she had it ready to give to Dort when she called.

My father is a proud man and it is hard for him to ask or admit that he needs help. He is doing the absolute best that he can in a world that has moved far beyond his control. I've read about how the stress of the caregiver takes its toll on the caregiver's health, and this is also showing up at this time. Tonight, he went to my sister's house to have her look over his medicine because he was sure that today was October 20th and he was going to have a stress test at the cardiologist this Friday.

My father has lived in denial for a long time concerning my mother's memory.  He didn't want to see what we saw, but he is finally admitting that there is a problem. I'm sure to him it feels like he is going back in time to when my mother had her brain tumor, but this time he can't fix it.  He can't go back home to Nebraska and find a doctor who can solve the problem. He can't take her to the Fitzsimmons Hospital in Denver to remove a tumor because sometimes, no matter how hard you try...you just can't fix it.