"Don't waste yourself in rejection, nor bark against the bad, but chant the beauty of the good." - Ralph Emerson


I got home from the hospital (my work) at 0230 and checked on Grandpa as there was a light on in his room. He was changing his clothes, after having wet them. I helped him, got him dried and warm and back in bed. I turned off the lights for him and wished him 'Good night, sweet dreams". And he replied, in a wavering, sleepy, and very old voice, "Good night, and thank you for all you do for me."

Aww. So sweet!

This reminded me of a sweet moment I had a few months ago in the hospital, when I responded to a 'code blue' alert in the Family Birth Center. An elderly man had fainted in his wheelchair while visiting his newborne grandchild. I led the resuscitation, which was successful, and as I accompanied him down to the emergency room for further evaluation, I talked to him to try to wake him and re-orient him. "Hey, what's your name?" I asked. "Grandpa!" he replied. It was so sweet. Clinging to life and to the indentity that was so important to him.

So here is my chanting of the beauty of the good: My father is a fundamentally sweet person, and as nutty as his incomplete thought processes are now, due to his disease, he remains the sweet person that he has always been. We are very lucky in this, as ALZ can rob this aspect of a personality, and I see patients in the hospital who are horribly crabby in their confusion. But Grandpa Dear remains a dear, most of the time, and this is a beautiful blessing.

And here is my barking against the bad: it really, really, really hurts that my sister and brother won't have anything to do with us or their father. He has been living with us for 5 years now and in that time, they have rarely called or remembered him for Christmas, his birthday, or Father's Day. They have never shown any support or love to us. We tried to reach out, but they never responded to his Christmas cards or to mine. He may not remember them in his head, but he remembers in his heart - yet they don't remember him in theirs. And so they don't get to experience the sweet little moments such as the one I just experienced at 3 in the morning. Ultimately, they are robbing themselves of a very important part of their lives, and this is sad.


Jerry's kids have never been guided to reach out to him. Grandpa doesn't know the joy of receiving their artwork or scribbles in a homemade card, and they don't know the joy of making something for their Grandfather. They don't know anything about their cousins, either, and this is all by Jerry's choice.

When I was growing up, my father's siblings were an important part of my life. I knew their stories, and we visited them and communicated with them. My uncle and aunts were very dear to me. Sadly, since my siblings don't have anything to do with us, my own children don't know anything positive about them, and are growing up without the deep family connection that I was so fortunate to experience.

I suppose this is all just 'wasting myself in rejection', but my siblings have disowned me and their father, and they hurt themselves and my entire family in the process. I think that is worth standing up to. They don't care and won't listen, but at least the universe knows that I am taking a stand against their decision to make us invisible to them.

And when my Dad passes on, I have no idea how to let my siblings know.

I do have my brother Jamie, who remains interested and who reads this blog. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Jamie. Also thank you to my cousin Mary Ellen and to my sister-in-law and nieces in New Zealand for their support and love! All is not lost, since we have you. We heart you all.