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My dad had his first “episode” in 2010. To this day, we are unsure if it was a stroke or a seizure, but whatever it was, it changed everything—from how he acted to how he walked. To say I had a conflicted relationship with him is an understatement. We were both undiagnosed with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). He lived through a war and was raised by an emotionally distant and often cruel man, which left scars that never really healed. He never showed genuine affection, and he rarely ever said “I love you.” He only ever responded with “Yep, me too” if I said it to him. He grew up in a generation and a society that did not place value on strong father/daughter relationships.
However, my father’s dementia journey changed both of us. I felt obligated to try and mitigate his unhappiness at being placed in a care home by spending almost all my available time with him. That time was impossibly draining, but through everything, it also became incredibly healing. The broken man who failed at raising me seemed to lose some of the walls he put up to protect himself, and we were finally able to have some amazing, incredible, and genuine interactions.
One day, my father told me, unprompted, that he loved me, was proud of me, and was grateful that I was there for him. I stayed by him until he took his last breath, holding his hand and telling him I love him. Those moments, where it was just the two of us sharing a laugh or talking about his life, are etched onto my heart, and I’m forever grateful for them.
–Anonymous Caregiver, Delta, BC ( Source from Family Caregivers of British Columbia)
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