The Onset of Alzheimers
George was a very intelligent man that lacked formal education beyond high school. He always served his church in whatever capacity they asked. He was an adult Sunday School teacher, a council member, an usher, and from time to time, gave the Sunday message to the entire congregation. It was sad to see Alzheimer’s Disease slowly reduce this vibrant man to a shell of a man. One of my deepest regrets is that his grandchildren can only remember him in the final stages of this disease and were not able to experience the intelligent and caring man that measured his life.
Early symptoms were nearly undetectable. Now and then he would have trouble with a word in mid-sentence, but most of do that from time to time. Once in while he would forget an appointment, but don’t we all? The most dramatic change came rather quickly one summer after he had retired.
He had a routine doctor’s appointment one hot summer day. He drove his car to the appointment and parked in front of the doctor’s office. He locked the car and started into the office when he realized that he must have left his medical card in the car. He unlocked the car and put his car keys into his shirt pocket while he leaned across the seat to get the card. The keys must have fallen out of his pocket and down between the seats without his realizing it. He locked the car with car buttons and proceeded to the appointment.
When he came out of the appointment the sun was high and it was very hot. Searching his pockets for the keys, he could not find them. He retraced his steps to the doctor’s office repeatedly, but to no avail. Rather than to phone someone and ask them to bring him another set of keys, he decided to walk the three miles home and get another set keys himself. He could have easily taken the bus, but he really loved to walk.
About half way home, he began to feel dizzy from the heat and decided to sit down on the curb and rest in front of some houses that lined 7th Avenue. That was the last thing that could remember. A lady came out onto her front porch and noticed him sitting on the curb with his face in hands. After a while, she became concerned about him and asked him if he was all right. He looked at her sort of blank-faced and replied that he was ok. She asked him if he would like something to drink and he accepted. She them asked him if would like her to phone someone for him and he said that he would. But when she asked him what his telephone number was, he could not remember. Then she asked him his name and he could not remember that either. The lady phoned the police who came and question him and then they took him to the hospital.
By way of identification in his wallet, the police were able to contact my mother. He remained in the hospital for a few days, he regained his memory and was sent home with medication. We thought, at first, that he had suffered a sun stroke as it seemed the logical explanation. The doctor, however, had diagnosed Alzheimer’s Disease early on, but elected not to tell anyone the real reason for the memory loss.
Dad’s memory loss became more and more apparent in his day to day functions. Within a month or so, it became necessary for him to give up his job at the Altoona Tax Office and to surrender his driver’s license. The process would have been much better for the family, however, if the doctor had simply told us the truth about the Alzheimer’s. We began to think that the problem was with the medication that he had been prescribed, but the real problem was the disease. My mother became increasingly impatient with him because she thought that he would able to just snap out of it. That was not the case. The disease progressed until eight years later he just forgot to breathe and died in the Altoona Hospital on February 13, 1988. My mother and several of his children (including myself) were in attendance when he died.
Dad was born on 12/13/13 and he always said that if there had been a 13th month, he would have been born on 13/13/13. Little did he know realize the irony that he would also die on the 13th.
Postscript
I do not think that there was anyone that did not really like George Lamca. It was difficult not to like him, because he totally non-offensive. He would do anything for anyone and always rooted for the underdog.
I remember his funeral service all too well. I looked at him in the casket and wept, not so much because he had died, because that will happen to all of us. I looked Dad and wept because I saw the shell of a man before me that never realized his full potential of happiness. In part that was because he was the victim of poverty as a child. One of the true casualties of poverty is one’s self esteem and confidence. He had endured the humiliation of childhood illnesses, needing a haircut, wearing ill fitting hand-me-downs with holes and never feeling quite as good as everyone else. He allowed that lack of self-esteem to prevent him from pursuing his dream of college and of the ministry to which he was called. Perhaps, Mom is right. Perhaps she should have encouraged him and helped him through college and seminary? I don’t know the answer to that. I suppose that in the final analysis we all bear the responsibility for our own decisions.
What I do know is that experience, at Dad’s funeral, made me realize something that, even now, I forget from time to time. What I keep reminding myself of is that life is too short not to pursue our dreams. If we do not fly that plane, write that book, go see what we want to see, take time for our family or go to college…shame on us! I wish for my family that they first love the Lord, then their family and then live out their potential. Do not get to end of your life with a long list of “could have”, “should have” or “would haves”.
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