Years ago, when I was still living in my childhood home, my dad tried to teach me how to tie a slipknot. Never mind the fact I had no desire to learn any such skill, so try as I might, I couldn’t get the hang of it. In truth, my inability was really the perfect display of teenage defiance disguised as utter ineptness. I\u2019m sure my dad knew this, but he wasn\u2019t one to give up easily.\u00a0Dad always insisted he pass his knowledge on to my sister and me. Mostly me. By this time, my older sister was already in college, living a new life. Of course hindsight, or nostalgia with its rose-colored clarity, knows dad was just hanging on to his daughter the only way he knew how. Through teaching lessons, even if the student was anything but willing to learn. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think about this time. Watching my dad\u2019s thick fingers work a thin piece of string. I remember my impatience and recall his frustration. I\u2019m ashamed of that day, regretful of the little tolerance I had for an aging father who clearly knew nothing about teenage girls. We liked malls, hairdos, and hurrying up this knot-tying nonsense. Perhaps this explains why dad would mumble about his need to tie one on!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In retrospect, my dad taught me that knots create more than a series of tethers and loops. They form the ties that bind, even if I was slipping away sooner than he saw coming. Just like my sister. And now, just like my children who are grown, flown, and flying further away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now, whenever I see a piece of string or particular type of rope, it makes me think of my father. He can no longer tie anything. Plagued with Alzheimer\u2019s, the disease has stolen more than his slipknot knowledge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It has him doing the oddest things. Like eating a bowl of Cheez-Its with milk as if it were Cheerios, his favorite cereal. After all, they both come out of a box from inside the cupboard.\u00a0The disease has him slipping out the front door if we don\u2019t keep a tight watch. It\u2019s as though the people he once couldn\u2019t get enough of are now the ones he wants to escape! Sometimes, he forgets the faces of our family. When this happens, we remind him that we’re woven into a fabric of familiarity that\u2019s neatly tied. Even if we can sometimes resemble a messy knot.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once, I was convinced that I had Alzheimer’s disease! This is known as something called Nosophobia, or Medical Student Syndrome, an anxiety-driven tendency where people studying a disease, or who are around someone who is sick, start to believe they have it too. Apparently, caregivers can experience this same phenomenon. Thankfully, my doctor knew all about the fact I was my caring for a father with an advanced form of dementia. He looked me straight in the eye and gently said, \u201cWomen who have a lot on their plate, and are of a certain age, might forget a thing or two. You’re just fine.” I left that appointment feeling old, but relieved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There are days when Alzheimer\u2019s is at its worst. Other days, it sends a surprise of something familiar, and I catch a glimpse of the person my dad once was. It reminds me that while his behavior may betray him, he\u2019s still the same dad. He\u2019s still the same man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I still can\u2019t tie a slipknot. But I\u2019ll keep trying because there\u2019s still time to tie together everything of importance. There\u2019s still time to say “thank you” for being the best dad I could ask for, and the one I’d choose as my father in every lifetime. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Years ago, when I was still living in my childhood home, my dad tried to teach me how to tie a slipknot. Never mind the fact I had no desire to learn any such skill, so try as I might, I couldn’t get the hang of it. In truth, my inability was really the perfect … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2303,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2302"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2302"}],"version-history":[{"count":40,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2302\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3064,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2302\/revisions\/3064"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2303"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2302"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2302"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stumblingtowardartistry.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2302"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}