16 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, elder care, family stories, hallucinations, health, help for caregivers, home care, in home caregivier, Lewy Body Dementia, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, prayer, precious moments, respite care, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Senior Health, sundowning
Image Courtesy of the Caregiver Space
Reflections on Caregiving
by Bobbi Carducci
The face in the mirror evolved as you did. When you came to live with us I gazed on eyes full of hope. In my care you would do well. When you needed anything, I would provide it. We would share our stories and laugh or cry when feelings overcame us in the telling. For a time we did well.
Everything changed.
The face in the mirror reflected worry lines etched deep into my forehead. What was I doing wrong? Day by day, month by month, you slipped away. Would you know me today? When your memory left me behind, where did you go? And when, if ever, would you be back?
Time passed.
Eyes rimmed in black stared back at me. No sleep. Constant stress. You needed all I had to give and more. What we were to do, the two of us? We were at cross purposes fighting the same battle. You were determined I would not win. Every night I cried.
You are gone.
The face in the mirror is forever changed. In your living and your passing you left your mark on me. All the fear and loss, hope, love and laughter are reflected in my eyes. Every night I pray for you and hope you do the same for me.
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13 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, schizophrenia, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, caregiver advice, Caregiver Support, caregiving, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, elder care, family stories, health, respite care, sundowning
Colorful is not the way one would typically describe the life of a caregiver but once my father-in-law, Rodger, came to live with us my days began to revolve around the colors of his life.
Outwardly he appeared to be a drab little wren of a man. All his clothing was either brown or grey, the monotony broken only by one of the muted plaid shirts he saved to wear for an appointment with one of his many doctors. His lined, expressionless face would have been a blank canvas if not for deep brown eyes topped by grey eyebrows so overgrown they rivaled those of the late Andy Rooney. When he spoke there were no colorful sayings to add interest. ‘Just the facts, Ma’am.’ Everything about him seemed designed to blend into the background. At the time I didn’t think to question why he was so determined not to be seen or what he might be doing when he thought I wasn’t looking.
Every day started and ended with a rainbow of colored pills, red, yellow, white, green, blue, pink. Some were taken once a day, others two or three times a day, to treat or control his mental illness, Parkinson’s disease, heart disease, Dysphagia, and various infections that seemed to pop up as often as weeds in summer. In between doses, billowing clouds of vapor from breathing treatments to ease his C.O.P.D. wafted out of his room. He counted out is various medications and filled his pill box weekly and he religiously filled out a mail order form when they began to run low. He knew when it was time for each pill and never failed to take them on time. Or so it seemed.
I should have known what he was doing when the symptoms first appeared but I was still too green to know how devious he could be. Even his doctors were fooled until they day his mind shattered into shards of throbbing suspicion. As I write this I try to imagine what a psychotic break looks like. I picture it as a swirling mass of colors so bright they burn his soul leaving him decimated and his caregiver shrouded in deep, purple guilt.
Eventually I discovered that the anger and resentment I sometimes felt when dealing with the daily stress of life as a caregiver could hide in a fog of grey fatigue or the flashing colors of an aura signifying the onset of a migraine headache causing me to scramble to find what I could to minimize the pain.
Fortunately, not all the colors of caregiving are dark or somber. If they were we couldn’t do it. I treasured the bright blue moments of clarity whenever they appeared. Like the day he told me how he and his brother would roll up the carpets in the farmhouse kitchen, when they were young men living in Italy, in order to dance a tango with girls from the village. Was that a hint of pink pride on his face at the memory of holding a pretty woman in his arms? I basked in the bright yellow sunshine of joy when he gently held his newborn great granddaughter, Ava, for the first time, his eyes full of love for the tiny creature gazing up at him.
Yes, being a caregiver is a very colorful occupation. When Rodger passed away, once the worst of the grieving passed, I realized that the moments we shared, the good and the not so good, would forever be part of the richly colored tapestry of stories being woven by caregivers who tend to their loved ones every day and I am grateful to discover there are places like this where we can share them. What are the colors in your story?
Note: This post first appeared on The Caregiver Space in 2013 under the title, 50 Shades of Caregiving. I am honored to be a guest blogger for them in addition to writing here as The Imperect Caregiver. You can also find caregiver blog postsby me on AgingCare.com
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12 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, caregiver advice, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, elder care, family stories, help for caregivers, Home Health, Lewy Body Dementia, paranoid schizophrenia, sundowning
What if it happens to me? I’m scared. I know too much. I’ve seen the deterioration. I’ve heard the rants and the accusations.
“She’s poisoning me. She never gives me any food. I’m a prisoner here.”
When I wake in the middle of the night and get up to pee will an alarm start shrieking, scaring me so I wet my pants? I don’t want someone else to bathe me. I can’t bear the thought of anyone seeing me at an advanced age, withered and naked. I’ll probably fight, kicking and screaming, if they try.
What about all those pills? What will they do to me? Drug interactions can make things much worse. Remember, I know too much. I’ve seen it. I won’t want to take them.
If I want to leave my room and walk the halls because I’m tired of sitting for hours will people try to confine me and say, “She wanders all the time?”
Being a caregiver was the hardest thing I ever did. It was also a gift to be there for those who needed me. Still, I’m afraid. What if I’m next?
As Iwrite this, I am grateful that my children say they will be there for me. I don’t want to go to a care facility where the names and faces change daily. I’m not comfortable around strangers now. I can only imagine how much worse it would be then.
I want to know. I need to know. Is Alzheimer’s and dementia hereditary?
***
According to information posted on the Alzheimer’s Association website, the majority of dementia is not inherited. The article written by, Professor Nick Fox, Honorary Consultant Neurologist at the Institute of Neurology in London says in part:
“Many people fear that Alzheimer’s disease in the family may be passed on to children and grandchildren. In the vast majority (99 per cent) of cases, this is not so. Like many conditions, having Alzheimer’s disease in the family does very slightly increase the chance of people in later generations getting the disease.
The most important risk factor for Alzheimer’s disease is age. Because Alzheimer’s disease is so common in people in their late 70s and 80s, having a parent or grandparent with Alzheimer’s disease at this age does not change your risk compared to the rest of the population.”
***
Reading that article and others on the subject, I feel better. But, it also goes on to say,”There are some forms of dementia that are inherited.” As far as I know, there is no indication any of them run in my family. I’m relieved for now but I know every now and and then I’ll begin to wonder …
The entire article referenced in this post can be read here: http://alzheimers.org.uk/site/scripts/documents_info.php?documentID=917
For all of us, for all forms of dementia, I pray a cure is found soon.
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09 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Caregiver humor, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, elder care, family stories, funny moments in caregivng, laxatives, Milk of Magnesia, precious moments, respite care, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, smile
Even if it’s you. Even if you have to work at it.
As hard as it was being a caregiver. As devastating as it was be in so many ways, there were moments of when I couldn’t stop the giggles. And laughter, like a good cry, can make it possible to go on. And sometimes the humor comes at the most unexpected times.
The following is an excerpt from Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver that includes a scene about my father-in-laws’ obsession with laxatives. I believe many of you will relate to it.
“When he first came to live with us, the only things he asked us to buy for him were Milk of Magnesia and prune juice. He had prescriptions for stool softeners and laxatives issued by his former doctors and continued by his new doctor. He constantly complained of constipation, greeting everyone he spoke to, including strangers, with “Hello. How’s everything? My bowels don’t move.” If he did happen to go, he made sure he told them about that as well, in great detail. It soon became clear he was taking far too much of the stuff. Every day, in the morning and at midday, he’d drink a large glass of prune juice, followed by Milk of Magnesia. Often he’d wait a few moments after taking it, look at his watch, and take some more. A few moments later he’d do it again. One day, after just telling me he’d had a bowel movement, I saw him drink another large glass of prune juice and reach for the Milk of Magnesia.
“Why are you taking that? “ I asked.
“For the constipation,” he said.
“But you just went.”
“That don’t count. It was all liquid.”
That’s when I knew I had to do something. No matter how we tried to explain it to him, he wouldn’t accept that it was the laxatives that were causing his problem. The more he took, the worse it got—and the more he worried—resulting in a vicious cycle that was interfering in his normal bodily functions. His psychiatrist said that it’s not unusual for a schizophrenic to keep track of what goes in and out of his body. In his mind, solid food was going in but nothing solid was coming out. That meant something was very wrong. Once I began to limit his access to prune juice and Milk of Magnesia, and started monitoring his use of laxatives, he started showing signs of stress. He paced and muttered to himself and began making frequent trips to the bathroom where he’d sit for hours, waiting for something to happen. I hated to see him like that, but I had to ease him off the stuff. His doctor tried to help by telling him that taking too many laxatives could interfere with his other medications and land him back in the hospital. He wasn’t buying it. When I wouldn’t give in, he complained to Mike, and when Mike backed me up, he called him one of the worst insults he could think of.
“You’re nothing but a dictator! You’re another Mussolini, that’s what you are!”
Later, after Rodger calmed down and we were getting ready for bed, Mike looked over at me and shook his head. “Mussolini? Now I’m Mussolini?”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The giggles I’d been trying hard to stifle came rolling out. “The Mussolini of laxatives!” I laughed harder. “You Fascist poop dictator!”
Mike looked at me in confusion for a moment, and then the hilarity of the situation hit him and he was laughing as hard as I was. I laughed so hard I got the hiccups, and that made us laugh even more. We ended up rolling on the bed, laughter feeding more laughter, until we were exhausted.
“Oh wow, I needed that,” I said when I was finally able to catch my breath.
“Me too,” Mike agreed. “I don’t know how you do it every day. He’s so damned stubborn. I’m glad I’m not like that.”
“Right.” I poked him the ribs. “Me either. I’m not stubborn. I’m determined.”
“Yes, dear,” Mike said with a grin. “Do you think you can determine to keep loving me through all this?”
“Sure, if you can determine to come over here and give me a kiss.”
“You got it, Babe.”
He did. I smiled and I hope you are too.
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06 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's, Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, caregiver, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, family stories, fearsome intimacy, help for caregivers, Lewy Body Dementia, Open Books Press, sandwich generation, Senior Health, sundowning
When we hold our infants in our arms we are filled with awe and hope for the future. We envision a life of promises fulfilled. We never picture them feeding us, holding our hand to keep us from falling, or changing our under things. I didn’t want to type the word diapers. The thought of losing my dignity to such a degree is truly fearsome. In my mind I heard the words, “It’s enough to scare the pants off me.” The irony makes me shudder and chuckle at the same time.
The caregiver and the cared for are locked in a fearsome intimacy. I don’t know where this quote came from. If I did I would give credit here. What I do know is, whoever penned those five simple words shared a devastating truth.
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05 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, caregiver advice, Caregiver humor, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, elder care, family stories, help for caregivers, home care, Home Health, in home caregivier, Lewy Body Dementia, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, prayer, precious moments, respite care, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Senior Health, sundowning
Caregivers, you know who I mean. The people who call to question and criticize what you do and how you do it. The family members who drop by once or twice a year and spend an hour or so before heading out to a restaurant for dinner or leaving on a fabulous vacation. The ones who can’t help you because seeing Mom or Dad like that is too hard for them.
These are the same people who say, “Please let us know what we can do to help,” but are never available when you need someone to take over for a day or two so you can get some much-needed rest.
We have all dealt with the splinters. If we don’t pick them out in time the wound caused by their careless dismissal of us and our loved one festers and makes life even more difficult for us.
I hope when that happens you will remember this funny little cartoon and smile and feel a bit better, even if only for a moment. You are not alone.
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02 Nov 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, caregiver anger, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: a place for mom, Alzheimer's, Bobbi Carducci, caregiver advice, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, family stories, God, health, help for caregivers, home care, Home Health, in home caregivier, Lewy Body Dementia, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, prayer, precious moments, respite care, schizophrenia, Senior Health
As a caregiver I spent a lot of time praying. I doubted my ability to carry on and castigated myself each time I lost patience or failed to protect my father-in-law from another setback. While I recognized his frailty I forgot about my own. I expected perfection where there could be none. I prayed for guidance and asked God to show me the path he wanted me to take. There were many days when I doubted He heard me. Often I wondered if I was worthy of His help and attention. I cried a lot. But always, when I was at my lowest, help arrived in some form and I knew my prayers were heard. Today I share this prayer for you, the caregiver, so you know you are never alone and you have done well.
A Prayer for the Caregiver
By Bruce McIntyre
Unknown and often unnoticed, you are a hero nonetheless.
For your love, sacrificial, is God at his best.
You walk by faith in the darkness of the great unknown,
And your courage, even in weakness, gives life to your beloved.
You hold shaking hands and provide ultimate care.
Your presence, the knowing, that you are simply there.
You rise to face the giant of disease and despair,
It is your finest hour, though you may be unaware.
You are resilient, amazing, and beauty unexcelled.
You are the caregiver and you have done well.
Prayer shared courtesy of A Place for Mom
The following is an excerpt from Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver:
There were only two cars in the church parking lot when I pulled in, but considering it was a weekday afternoon, that wasn’t surprising. After dipping my fingers into the holy water font and making the sign of the cross, I slipped into a pew near the front of the church. For several moments I simply sat there, taking in the lingering aroma of incense, candle wax, and furniture polish. …
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,… ” I prayed, the words taking on a new importance as tears of frustration and guilt streamed down my face. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done …”
All right, God, if it is Your will that I take care of my father-in-law, I’m happy to do it. But You have to help me. I’m new at this, and I’m afraid I’m not doing it very well. He’s a sick old man, and he’s not trying to be difficult. I know that. So why do I feel so angry?
“… And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.… but deliver us from evil … ” I sobbed, my heart breaking for both of us. Why couldn’t I be stronger?
“Help me to be more patient and understanding. Guide me to make the right decisions when it comes to his care. Help me find the right words to soothe him when he’s confused and frightened. Please take the anger away. It frightens me. It weakens me, and I need to be strong to do this. I don’t want to let Mike down, and I can’t let Rodger down. He has nowhere else to go. Please, hold me in your love and light and show me the path you want me to take. Amen.”
My prayer complete, I struggled to stop crying, but the harder I tried the harder the tears flowed. Just as I began to fear they’d never end, exhaustion and embarrassment forced me to gain control of myself. Get a grip, I scolded myself. You’ve had a good cry, and it’s time to go home.
I’d left my purse in the car and had nothing to mop up the watery mess I’d made of myself, leaving me with no choice other than to wipe my nose on my sleeve. I didn’t notice the near-silent approach of the only other person in the church until a tiny elderly woman, dressed all in black, touched my shoulder and handed me a bunch of tissues.
“God bless you,” she whispered as she turned and walked away.
Yes, God bless me. I sure do need it.
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10 Oct 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, caregiver anger, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's disease, Bobbi Carducci, caregiver, Caregiver Support, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, elder care, family stories, God, hallucinations, health, help for caregivers, Home Health, Lewy Body Dementia, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, precious moments, respite care, sandwich generation, Senior Health
It was one year ago today that The Imperfect Caregiver blog appeared for the first time. Within days I started hearing from other caregivers and caregiver bloggers and with each new connection I learned more about how enormous this community is and how little the people around us know about what we do and the impact it has on our society.
As a writer I try to inform through story telling. In doing so I hope to connect with caregivers and the people around them. So often our family members don’t understand what it’s like to care for a seriously ill loved one twenty-four hours a day for a period of many months or years.
Siblings live far away and can only visit once or twice a year. Others have demanding jobs that keep them too busy to help. Families aren’t perfect, many have troubled histories filled with anger and resentment. A son, daughter, mother or father may have good reason to stay far away from someone who abused them in the past. Still someone must step up and when that someone is you your life changes dramatically. Even when the person you care for is a treasured spouse, parent or child the constant demands can become too much and the caregiver begins to fall apart.
Quotes by caregivers include:
“I haven’t had a good nights sleep in 4 days! I just want to walk away from it all, but I won’t.”
“Oh lord, I think my family might be on the verge of working as a team. Please make it true.”
“This is taking a toll on my marriage of 31 years and its breaking my heart.”
“I want my mom back. This is a nightmare.”
“I go along with her delusions, she’s upset. If I try to tell her the truth, she’s upset. Nothing is helping.”
“I’ll never understand the disease…but today I’m at peace. I pray you all are blessed with these rare moments too.”
And here’s a quote from me about one of the hardest days I had as a caregiver:
“I put my head in my hands and I cried. It wasn’t a dainty cry with gentle tears moistening my cheek. It was a hard-driving, gut wrenching, chest heaving, sloppy, ugly, sobbing cry. My nose ran and my eyes burned from the force of it and there were moments when I thought I might never stop. But I did. And then I started again. And again after that. And again after that, until my eyes were nearly swollen shut and my head pounded and my heart stopped aching. I cried. I let it out. But you know what? That didn’t make me weak.I was still the caregiver and I was thankful. … I was thankful for a good hard cry.”
As you can tell from these comments caregivers don’t have all the answers nor do they have unlimited resources or energy. They simply do what needs to be done. And that takes a very special person.
If you know a caregiver reach out and lend a hand to help or an ear to listen and let him or her know they are not alone.
Thank you for following The Imperfect Caregiver.
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25 Sep 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, caregiver anger, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's, Alzheimer's disease, angels among us, Bobbi Carducci, caregiver, caregiver advice, Caregiver Support, caregiving, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, elder care, Family, family stories, health, heaven, heaven is real, help for caregivers, home care, Home Health, home health aide; miracle, Lewy Body Dementia, nursing, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, respite care, Senior Health, social workers
When I first saw this picture I was reminded of a day when angels made their presence known to me. There had been an ice storm and Rodger was in the hospital again. Unable to get there so see him for a few days I was worried about him and how he would react upon seeing me. Although he often said he didn’t mind being in the hospital, he always resented it and acted out when he got home. I was becoming overwhelmed and prayed often asking God to send help. I prayed again as I drove the winding road over the mountain into West Virginia to the VA hospital.
The following is an excerpt from chapter 25 of my book Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, the true story of my time as an imperfect caregiver.
“I was hoping for the best but preparing for the worst when the scenery began to change.
While the road was clear and the sun was shining brightly, every blade of grass, every twig on every branch of every tree I passed for miles, was encased in ice. I couldn’t believe the beauty that was unfolding before me.
Tears filled my eyes and I felt an amazing sense of peace. It’s like driving through heaven. Just as that thought came to mind, the song on the radio changed. The words filled me with awe, “There are angels among us.”
I knew in that moment my prayers would be answered. Maybe not right away. Maybe not in the time I hoped for, but I knew I was not alone.
When I got to the hospital, I was told a social worker wanted to speak with me. Bracing for another lecture on how I was out of line for speaking my mind, I was shocked when the first thing he said was, “Mrs. Carducci, do you need help?”
“What did you say?” I asked, not sure I heard right.
“I asked if you need help. I understand that you’ve been caring for your father in your home for a long time and that his needs are extensive. Are you able to leave him to go to the store or go out to dinner with your husband? When was the last time you took an afternoon for yourself?”
“Um …” I stuttered. “Wow. Yes, I need help. Who are you again?” I wanted to ask him to turn around so I could check for wings, but I was afraid to appear cheeky to God.
“Here’s my card. My name is Rob Angelis, and I’m a social worker. I’d like to arrange some help for you…I can offer you in-home assistance if you’re willing to accept it.”
“Oh, I’m willing to accept it.Please tell me more about the program and when we can start.”
Yes, there are angels among us. Many are family caregivers. In the United States alone there are between 65 and 90 million family caregivers and the numbers grow every day. Please do what you can to be supportive. The gift of time is precious to caregivers. A moment of respite is a godsend. Be an angel and reach out to a caregiver. Someone near you is praying for help.
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22 Sep 2014
by Bobbi Carducci
in care giving, Dementia, family issues, home health care, mental illness, nursing, sandwich generation, Uncategorized, women's issues
Tags: Alzheimer's, Alzheimer's disease, Annette Dashofy, Bobbi Carducci, Book for caregivers, caregiver, caregiver advice, Caregiver Support, caregiving, Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver, dementia, Dysphagia, elder care, Family, family stories, health, help for caregivers, Henery Press, in home caregivier, Lewy Body Dementia, Lost Legacy, Open Books Press, paranoid schizophrenia, Parkinson's Disease, prayer, precious moments, sandwich generation, Senior Health, Zoe Chambers Mysteries
Anette Dashofy, author of the Zoe Chambers mystery series shares a bit of her caregiver story and how she created a very special character in her book, Lost Legacy, to honor her father. Welcome Annette.
Bobbi Carducci and I met and bonded many years ago in the hospitality suite of a Pennwriters Conference, commiserating about our roles as caregivers—she for her father-in-law and I for my dad. Sisters in the battle to maintain a real life while providing comfort for not-always-cooperative loved ones.
Of course, being writers, we both chose to share our emotions through the printed word. Her book is a lovely memoir. Mine, a work of fiction. Lost Legacy is the second in my Zoe Chambers mystery series.
This book has been a story of my heart, and as thrilled as I was to get the first one published, this one is special. Lost Legacy is dedicated to the memory of my dad, who—like Harry—Pete Adams’ father in the book, suffered from Alzheimer’s. Harry is NOT my dad. My dad’s illness was dark and ugly and complicated with strokes. Dad couldn’t walk without assistance, but didn’t remember, so he fell. Repeatedly. Loss of independence, combined with the ravaging effects on his mind, made him short-tempered and…well…just plain mean at times. He lost his ability to internally edit or use good judgment. He struck out verbally at those he most loved, reducing my mom to tears on more than one occasion.
Could I take such a hideous disease that reduced my strong, take-charge dad into a wheelchair-bound, helpless and angry man and write a fictional character who didn’t make the reader slam the book closed? Could I create a likeable, but realistic character who suffered from Alzheimer’s? There are a lot of readers out there with family members dealing with this or similar dementia ailments, and I knew they would call me out big time if I didn’t get it right.
But I really wanted to create this character of Harry. I’ve been the caregiver daughter who dreamed of running away. Like Pete, my own loving brother had difficulties watching our father deteriorate—though not as badly as Pete! As writers do, I took those relationships and magnified them. Played the what-if game.
Instead of focusing on the darkest parts of my dad’s illness, I used a lot of his more lovable quirks in creating Harry Adams. Spending time with Harry was like having a little bit of my dad around…the part I remember fondly. His addiction to chocolate milkshakes. The way he called everyone “Sunshine.” His mischievous grin.
I hope I succeeded in creating a real representation of an Alzheimer’s patient and the people around him. I think I did. So far my readers have given me thumbs up for the effort. Harry may have been the biggest challenge of my writing life (so far!), but he’s also become my favorite character. And the one I’m most proud of.
Also, I’m donating a portion of my royalties for Lost Legacy to the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of Dad…and of Harry.
Note: Although Annette was unaware of it when she named him, Harry shares his name with my father, the late Harry Simpson. It seems Annette and I are connected in ways that go beyond the love of writing and I am proud to know her.
http://www.annettedashofy.com/files/Home.html
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