The Road to Joining “THEM”

The Spanish version follows below    -   La version en Español sigue abajo. 

I remember when I was 9 years old:  The school room in Villa de Garcia, N.L. Mexico; The neighbors; The chores I had to do;  Exploring new things and new people;  My school playmates;  The early morning wake ups to go and get the milk from where the cows were being milked and to feed the chickens;  The school teacher yelling at me almost on a daily basis;  Being an altar boy;  Ringing the church bell; and in the evenings listening to the conversations of my parents sitting down with my aunts and some neighbors in the evening before bedtime.  At no time did I think about getting old.   My parents, aunts, uncles, teachers, workers, store clerks, they were old and grandparents were just older.  But at that time it never crossed my mind that I would be old someday.  To me the world had order, adults had their place and kids had their place.  Other “almost adults,” like my aunt Abigail, my mother’s younger sister, were an enigma.  They were not adults but they were also not our age.  She was about 15 or 16 and sometimes played with us and sometimes did not want us around.  I felt that my job was to make her life miserable.  She and her friends were not adults and that made them open season to our pranks.

This dichotomy of the world in terms of age stayed with me through at least middle school (it used to be called Jr High), and possibly through the first year of high school.  I remember becoming aware of our limits of life when my grandfather Serafin died when I was young, but it did not make me think that I would get old and die one day.  The awareness of getting older was very subtle, it crept into me without thinking.  It happened in high school in a couple of ways.  One, was when one of my teachers, Mr. Tedsen, talked to me about being an electrical engineer, apparently he saw that I had a talent for math and electronics (Mr. Tedsen was my shop teacher in electronics).  The second way was when I met a girl that I wanted to be with, unfortunately that did not work out since she, apparently, did not want to be with me.  But those two events started me thinking about getting older.  Yes, my parents were always after me about studying, doing well in school and getting a job when I grew up.  But growing up never did register with me as an option or an unavoidable consequence. 

But from my two high school events, the teacher and the girl, I began to think that I would be older someday and I began to “see” myself as an engineer.  Although I read about engineering, I really had no idea what an engineer did, but I knew they had fun doing it and they made lots of money.  And, from the girl event, I realized that I had to be older to get a car, cruise Woodward Avenue, (where high school people in Pontiac went to meet and have fun) and get the girl I wanted.  I began to see myself being in my twenties, but I never saw myself as being any older.  Thirties and forties were beyond my comprehension.  Those ages were reserved for parents, college professors and people that employed you, those ages were reserved for “THEM.”  By my late twenties I realized that engineering was not my interest, by that time I had worked at Union Carbide and General Motors, was married and had a child, was continuing my studies in a PhD program and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when “I grew up.”

Just before I was thirty, was when I realized I was and adult and had to start acting like one.  I remember riding my bike to class at Stanford when all of the sudden I had a crisis of being.  A crisis akin to cognitive dissonance; I had a life of a non-adult, a PhD student gambling with a future that I had no idea what it held for me, married with a child and another child on the way.  Somehow, continuing the studies was contradictory to taking care of the family and earning a living.  I believe in both studying and working, but I could not do both.  So I postponed my studies in the last year of the program and I took a position in a National Laboratory as a Research Scientist and left school for a while.  My manager at the Laboratory was at least in his late fifties and I began to see myself turning forty, but never beyond.  The dichotomy persisted of me being young and “THEM” being old.  But never did I see myself being old, at least not beyond forty. 

Working in Washington DC I was in a fast-pace environment supporting the formulation of national policy, conduction research and defining and funding national research efforts.  The years go by very fast and before I knew it I was fifty.  I saw the Directors of the National Laboratories, most of my international clients and some co-workers as the ones who were “old,” in their sixties.  But I never thought of myself as being in my sixties.  The dichotomy of me being young and “they” being old continued in my mind.  When I decided to start a business in my fifties, I never thought of myself as being old, moreover, the thought of even being middle age never crossed my mind.  I had the physical stamina, the motivation the curiosity and the drive that I had when I was thirty.  There were many things left to conquer and many places to go.   However, when I was about mid fifty I began to realize that some of my analytical team members called me “Sir” and defer to my opinions without challenge and sought my guidance on issues based on my experience.  Even some of my clients would refer to me as the senior person leading a project.  Those things began to hit me with the possibility that I was aging. But I still did not see myself as being “old,” although many of my clients were younger than me, to me it was me and there were “THEM,” the old ones.

When I was in my late fifties and early sixties, not that I kept track, I remember attending retirement parties where the retiree was old, physically exhausted and in a very tired body that made them look very old.  These people were not much older than me, but they were “THEM.”  Still, I did not see myself as being old, I like and took on challenges and worked non-stop to accomplish them without feeling tired or old.  When my last son was born I was fifty four and felt and acted no different than when I was thirty.  Old to me was being sixty five and older and I did not see myself as ever being sixty five or older, that was reserved for “THEM” people. 

Then I turned sixty five.  I didn’t feel old, I continued to work on a large project with seven or eight assistants.  I did work in an environment where more than half the people were my age.  We kid and talked about retiring someday but never about getting old.  Old?  That was for the old people, “THEM.”  Then at sixty seven I decided to retire.  Still did not fell old.  Old now was defined as my father’s age who is twenty years older than me.  I still had the stamina to go on four to five week hiking trips in the mountains with my youngest son, take on heavy construction projects, exercise, travel, write and keep up with my youngest son.  I see some of my neighbors, in their eighties as being old, I see my father in his nineties as being old, I don’t see myself as being old, I was not part of “THEM” yet.  However, there was a big change in my thinking, I began to consider the possibility of being old in my eighties and possibly ninety.  But that was in the future.  I did not see myself as “THEM.”  I am beginning to observe my father and my neighbors very closely now to learn what I might expect, the challenges I might face from limited mobility, reduced mental capacity and limited memory.  And yet, I still don’t consider myself as being old.  The dichotomy of age still dominates me, there is me, and there are “THEM,” the old people.  When asked about my age, I joke that I have three ages; my chronological age, my physical age and my mental age.  My chronological age is that I’m turning seventy on Friday March 24, my physical age is that I feel between forty five and fifty years old and my mental age is that I know for a fact that I’m still fourteen!  I still have the curiosity and attitude of a fourteen year old and the physical abilities of a fifty year old (in good shape).  I still have a lot of hiking, a lot of traveling, a lot of partying and a lot of writing to do before I get old, maybe in ten more years I might think about joining the  “THEM” club. 

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El Camino Para Reunirme con “ELLOS”

Recuerdo cuando tenía 9 años: La sala de la escuela en Villa de García, N.L .; Los vecinos; Las tareas que tenía que hacer; Explorar nuevas cosas y nuevas personas; Mis compañeros de la escuela; Los despertares de la mañana temprana para ir y obtener la leche de donde las vacas estaban siendo ordeñadas y para alimentar a los pollos; El que profesor me regañaba casi a diario; Ser un monaguillo; Sonando la campana de la iglesia; Y por las noches escuchando las conversaciones de mis padres sentándose con mis tías y algunos vecinos en la noche antes de acostarse. En ningún momento pensé en envejecer. Mis padres, tías, tíos, maestros, obreros, vendedores, “ELLOS” eran viejos y los abuelos eran más.  Pero en esos tiempos nunca pensé que algún día sería viejo. Para mí el mundo tenía orden, los adultos tenían su lugar y los niños tenían el suyo.  Otros "casi adultos", como mi tía Abigail, la hermana menor de mi madre, eran un enigma. No eran adulta pero tampoco eran nuestra edad. Tenía unos 15 o 16 años ya veces jugaba con nosotros ya veces no nos quería. Sentí que mi trabajo era hacerle la vida miserable. Ella y sus amigas no eran adultos y eso les hizo abrir la temporada a nuestras bromas.

Esta dicotomía del mundo en términos de edad se mantuvo conmigo a través de la secundaria y quizás hasta el primer año de preparatoria.  Recuerdo haber tomado conciencia de nuestros límites de vida cuando mi abuelo Serafín murió cuando yo era joven, pero ese evento no me hizo pensar que iba a envejecer y morir algún día.  La conciencia de envejecer fue muy sutil, se me metió sin pensar.  Sucedió en la preparatoria en un par de maneras.  La primera fue cuando uno de mis maestros, el profesor Tedsen, me consejo sobre estudiar ingeniería y ser un ingeniero eléctrico.  Al parecer vio que yo tenía un talento para matemáticas y electrónica (el profesor Tedsen era mi profesor del taller de electrónica).  La segunda manera fue cuando conocí a una chica con la que quería estar, desafortunadamente eso no funcionó ya que, aparentemente, no quería estar conmigo.  Pero esos dos acontecimientos me hicieron pensar en ser más grande de edad.   Y mis padres también siempre me aconsejaban que estudiara para que pudiera conseguir un trabajo mejor.   Pero crecer nunca se registró conmigo como una opción o una consecuencia inevitable.

Pero de mis dos eventos de secundaria, el maestro y la niña, empecé a pensar que algún día sería mayor y comencé a "verme" como ingeniero.  Aunque leí sobre ingeniería, realmente no tenía idea de lo que hacía un ingeniero, pero sabía que se divertían haciéndolo y ganaban mucho dinero.  Y, desde el evento de la chica, me di cuenta de que tenía que ser mayor para conseguir un coche,  salir a pasear por la avenida Woodward (donde se juntaba la gente de la escuela en Pontiac a conocerse y divertirse),  y conseguir la chica que quería.  Empecé a verme en mis veinte años, pero nunca me vi como más viejo. Los treinta y los cuarenta estaban más allá de mi comprensión. Esas edades estaban reservadas para padres, profesores universitarios y personas que te empleaban “LOS OTROS.”  A finales de los veinte años me di cuenta de que la ingeniería no era mi interés.  En ese tiempo había trabajado en las empresas de  Union Carbide y General Motors como ingeniero.  Ya estaba casado y tenía una hija y estaba continuando mis estudios en un programa de doctorado y tratando de averiguar lo que quería ser cuando "sea grande".

Justo antes de cumplir los treinta años, fue cuando me di cuenta de que ya era un adulto y tenía que empezar a actuar como uno.  Recuerdo que iba clase en mi bicicleta en la Universidad de  Stanford cuando de repente tuve una crisis de ser.  Una crisis similar a la disonancia cognitiva; Tenia una vida de que no era de adulto, un estudiante de doctorado jugando con un futuro que no tenía idea de lo que tenía para mí, casado con una hija y otro niño en el camino.   Sentí que continuar con mis estudios era contradictorio con el de mantener a la familia.  Decidí posponer los últimos meses del estudio y trabajar.  Pero sabía que no podía hacer ambas cosas.  Tomé una posición en un laboratorio nacional como Científico Investigador y dejé la escuela por un tiempo.  Mi gerente en el Laboratorio tenía por lo menos cincuenta y tantos años y me empecé a ver come una persona que llegaría a tener cuarenta años, pero no más, esa edad mas grande estaba reservada para “ELLOS.”   La dicotomía persistió en que yo era joven y "ELLOS" eran viejos. Pero nunca me vi siendo viejo, al menos no más de cuarenta.

Trabajando en Washington DC,  estaba en un ambiente muy rápido.  Era responsable en apoyar la formulación de políticas nacionales de energía, investigando conduciendo y definiendo y financiando de proyectos nacionales de investigación.  Los años pasaron muy rápido y antes de que lo supiera ya tenía cincuenta años.  Veía a los Directores de los Laboratorios Nacionales, a la mayoría de mis clientes internacionales y a algunos compañeros de trabajo como los que eran los "viejos", porque tenían por lo menos sesenta.  Pero nunca pensé que yo llegaría a tener sesenta años. La dicotomía de ser joven y de ser viejo continuaba en mi mente. 

Cuando decidí comenzar un negocio a cincuenta años de edad, nunca pensé que era viejo, además, nunca pensé que era de mediana edad.  Tenía la resistencia física, la motivación la curiosidad y el impulso que tenía cuando tenía treinta años.  Había muchas cosas por conquistar y muchos lugares donde viajar.  Sin embargo, cuando tenía alrededor de mediados de los cincuenta, comencé a darme cuenta de que algunos miembros de mis equipos de investigación me llamaban "Señor" y se aferraban a mis opiniones sin desafío y buscaban mi consejo  sobre cuestiones basadas en mi “experiencia.”  Incluso algunos de mis clientes me refieren como la “persona mayor” que dirige el proyecto.  Esas cosas comenzaron a golpearme con la posibilidad de que yo estaba envejeciendo.  Pero todavía no me veía como "viejo", aunque muchos de mis clientes eran más jóvenes que yo, para mí eran yo y "ELLOS", los viejos.

Cuando estaba en mis cincuenta y principios de los sesenta, recuerdo asistir a fiestas de jubilación donde el jubilado era viejo, físicamente agotado y en un cuerpo muy cansado que los hacia parecer muy viejos.  Estas personas no eran mucho mayores que yo, pero eran "ELLOS".  Aun así, no me veía como viejo, me gustaba y me enfrentaba a desafíos y trabajaba sin parar para lograrlos sin sentirme cansado ni viejo. Cuando mi último hijo nació, yo tenía cincuenta y cuatro años y me sentía y actuaba como cuando tenía treinta años.  Ser viejo, para mí, era tener sesenta y cinco años, o más.   No me veía como si tuviera 65 años o más, esa edad estaba reservada para "ELLOS".

Luego cumplí los sesenta y cinco. No me sentía viejo, seguí trabajando en un proyecto grande con siete u ocho asistentes. Trabajé en un ambiente en el que más de la mitad de la gente tenía mi edad.  Platicábamos de jubilarnos algún día pero nunca me vi como llegar a ser viejo.  Ser viajo era para la gente grande, era para "ELLOS".   A los sesenta y siete, decidí retirarme. Todavía no me sentía viejo. Viejo ahora se define como la edad de mi padre que es veinte años más mayor que yo.  No me considero viejo porque todavía tengo la energía y la habilidad para ir de cuatro a cinco semanas excursiones de alpinista y campamento a las montañas con mi hijo menor, iniciar proyectos pesados de construcción, hacer ejercicio, viajar, escribir y mantenerse al día con mi hijo menor.  

Veo a algunos de mis vecinos, en su ochenta años de edad, y veo a mi padre que está en sus noventa- ellos son viejos, yo no.  Ellos pertenecen a ese grupo de "ELLOS" y yo todavía no entro a ese club.  Sin embargo, hubo un gran cambio en mi pensamiento, empecé a considerar la posibilidad de ser viejo en mis ochenta y posiblemente noventa años pero eso sería en el futuro.  No me veo como parte de "ELLOS".  Pero si empiezo a observar a mi padre y a los vecinos para saber lo que podría esperar y los desafíos que podría enfrentar con movilidad limitada, con capacidad mental reducida y una memoria más limitada. Y sin embargo, todavía no me considero viejo.  La dicotomía de la edad todavía me domina, existo yo, y existen "ELLOS", los ancianos.  Cuando me preguntan sobre mi edad, bromeo que tengo tres edades;  Mi edad cronológica, mi edad física y mi edad mental.  Mi edad cronológica es que cumplo setenta años el viernes 24 de marzo.  Mi edad física es que me siento entre cuarenta y cinco y cincuenta años y me muevo y me porto como alguien de esa edad.  ¡Mi edad, estoy seguro que tengo catorce años!  Todavía tengo la curiosidad y la actitud de un joven de catorce años y las habilidades físicas de una persona de cincuenta años (en buenas condiciones, aunque de repente las articulaciones no se portan bien).  Todavía tengo mucho que quiero hacer, muchos lugares donde viajar, mucha fiesta y muchas cosas que escribir antes de que envejece.  Tal vez en diez años más podría pensar en hacerme socio del club de "ELLOS."

OBSERVATIONS ON THE PROGRESS OF DEMENTIA: A case Study of my Father

My father is suffering from dementia, a disease that robs the memory by destroying brain cells.  From what I can tell, Alzheimer's is one form of dementia but there are also other causes.   It is generally agreed that Alzheimer’s advances much faster than other forms.  Alzheimer's is a progressive brain disorder that damages and eventually destroys brain cells, leading to memory loss and changes in thinking and other brain functions.  Alzheimer's is fatal, and currently, there is no cure.  Other forms of dementia, on the other hand, may be treatable but are also irreversible.  Treatment of dementia depends on its cause, but in the case of most progressive dementia, there is no cure and no treatment that slows or stops its progression.  However, it is claimed that some drugs have been developed that may temporarily improve the symptoms.  Alzheimer's disease results from the buildup of abnormal proteins in the brain, which leads to the cell death that results in cognitive decline.   Alzheimer's disease Symptoms include:

a)    Memory loss

b)    Disorientation to time and place

c)    Misplacing things

d)    Difficulty performing familiar tasks

e)    Changes in gait or walking

f)    Poor or decreased judgment

g)    Changes in mood or behavior

h)    Changes in personality

i)     Loss of initiative

j)     Problems with language

k)    Problems with abstract thinking

In my father’s case, his main symptom is memory loss.  In symptoms b) through e), if he has any at all, it is because of limited mobility and does not seem to be due to dementia.  Symptoms f) through k) do not apply to him; his mood, behavior and personality have not changed, he has lots of initiative, no problems with language – he is fluent in Spanish, his native tongue, and can still communicate in English, but not as fluent in English since he has been speaking only Spanish for many years.   His principle symptom is memory loss.

Although my father is in good health for a 91 year-old, his dementia has been advancing steadily for at least the four years that I have been monitoring him.  He is still able to manage his many of daily activities, going to bed, getting up, going to the bathroom and walking around the house with the help of his cane or walker.  He can no longer prepare meals and managing steps is a challenge.  Although he could probably bath himself, several of us provide assistance with bathing, shaving and dressing.  Physically, he is able to handle himself well for his age.  His memory, however, has declined steadily in the four years that I have been monitoring him closely.  I am certain that his memory began to be affected earlier than four years ago, but in the last four years he has gone from complete memory recall of all his life – a rich historical memory of 87 years to a point now where his history of his life is only about 10 minutes long.  He can still remember some aspects of his past if you remind him of key events and if he is provided with names of people or clues of events, but he cannot initiate a conversation on any period of his life by himself.  

He still remembers who the immediate family is and remembers we he is speaking to or about in a given conversation, within a ten-minute time-frame.  He remembers his brother, sister-in-law, some nieces and some nephews, if you remind him who they are.  But he has a hard time remembering some of his cousins and other friends.  He can still carry out a conversation, as long as the topics took place in the last ten minutes and only if he is asked direct questions.  Other than “how are you” or comments on immediate observation of the weather or events happening at the moment, he will not initiate a conversation.   He no longer seems to care for the content of a TV program and is perfectly happy looking at the motion of the TV screen without any sound.  Much of the time, when I go to visit him, I find him staring out the window with no expression on his face.  However, my father does not seem to exhibit some of the classical symptoms of dementia I have read or been told about, such as anger, frustration, anxiety or depression that is sometimes reported in dementia patients.  He knows that is unable to remember things, but I don’t think he realizes the extent of his memory loss.  He does express regret for his forgetfulness and may even have some embarrassment. 

Dementia is a terrible disease.  It is probably the worst disease any person can get. It robs the life; the history, the memories and one’s awareness of family.  It slowly dissolves your life.  It is very depressing watching this ailment take his life away very slowly and feeling very frustrated not being able to do anything about it.  The best we can do is keep him company, share stories and events, help him maintain communications with extended family and friends for as long as he is able and help him get around.  In general, keep his mind active.  I fear that the death of brain cells will eventually result in the lack of control in his motor functions as well as continue cognitive decline.

I have made it a point to have conversations with my father on a regular basis, three to four times per week for the past five to six years.  The first couple of years it was both by telephone and in person because he spent much of the winter in Southern Texas.  When he was in Michigan during the summer, I would make it a point to have breakfast with him early in the morning since both he and I are (were) early morning people.  Breakfast was before 7:00 a.m.   I liked the early breakfast schedule because we were almost certain of not being interrupted.  We are a family of 10 siblings and it was difficult to have a serious conversation with him when all of us (or most of us) were gathered.

At first, our conversations consisted of an exchange of the news, or I would present him with ideas on science, nature, and politics.  When he was in Texas, I would mail him articles and/or magazines in Spanish and then we would have a telephone conversation about them.  For example, during our breakfasts we would discuss such things as tectonic plate theory, the difference in the structure of the Mexican and U.S. federal governments, pollution by industry, education programs, etc.  We stayed away from religious topics because our views differ slightly, I am more liberal and he more conservative in religious matters.   He was fascinated to learn new things, especially tectonic plate theory and the reason why volcanoes and earthquakes happen.  In every topic he would always make the comment that “God does everything for a reason.” 

Sometimes in these conversations, he would begin to speak about his life and I began to record him on my smart phone or take notes of his stories that he would recount in great detail.  About four years ago, about 100% of our conversations began to revolve around his family history and we would spend at least a couple of hours on Saturday mornings, in the quiet of the morning, going over and documenting these stories.  His family had such a tragic life and his adventures as a kid were so interesting that I wanted to document them so that my son could read about them.  Eventually, the idea began to evolve that I should document these into a biography so that there will be a written history of his life and leave this information for our kids, nephews, nieces, and grand kids.  It was clear that if I did not document these, the stories would be lost. 

At first, I thought of writing his biography, but I very quickly ran into problems:  First, I had never written a biography before and second, there were huge gaps in the memory of his life.  Moreover, much of the information he gave me could not be verified.  It is not that I did not believe him, but I needed to confirm certain aspects of his stories, correlate them with dates of historical events to verify the chronology of events.  Unfortunately all his relatives his age; cousins, siblings, uncles had died.  There were still a few around and I needed to go and talk to them. 

I spend time looking up historical records to collaborate at some of his stories with events I could find in newspaper records.  I also found information about family in church records as well as talking to family to try to correlate their versions of what actually happen and what life was all about in the early 1930s and 1940s.  It became apparent that all his stories matched with general historical records; the movement of people back and forth across the border during the depression; floods on the Rio Grande corresponding with storms and hurricanes, agricultural growth in Texas and farm workers moving in from Mexico in the late 1930s and 1940s, every story he told correlated with a historical record.  I even found records of people crossing the border and verified that he did cross when he said he did.  However, the stories that he gave were not a complete record of his life, and when I asked him for more information, he did not remember.  It was very frustrating.

I began to look into how we remember things and it turns out that we only seem to remember significant events in our lives.  We don’t remember everything.  We only remember significant things like the first kiss and possibly the events around it; a big sporting event, our first fancy dress or suit, our first fight in school, a teacher that made an impact on our life.  The memory of our life is just a string of events with a lot of empty “space” that our brain thought it was not important enough to save.  Things

 that happen in between these key events are soon forgotten or they fade and become foggy in our minds.  Without a diary, most people only remember a small fraction of their lives.   This memory of life can be illustrated with the following chart:

  Illustrative Map of Dad's Original Memory – about four years ago

In this idealized graph, our memories of our life can be represented bubbles representing key events.  If our whole life is represented by a horizontal line, the memories of key events in our life can be represented by these memory “bubbles.”  The size of the “bubble” can represent the strength of the memory or the amount of information we remember about it.  Some memories can be stronger than others and many, many events in our lives are simply not remembered.  If we apply this hypothetical chart to my father, it would represent his memories four years ago as I began to record and document the stories of his life.  I recorded many of his stories with my smart phone or took detailed notes as he was recounting his adventures to me with names of people and places. 

Every Saturday I would spend a couple of hours with him and he either retold some of the stories or remembered new ones.  A little over two years ago I began to notice that he did not remember some of the details of some of the stories he had told me and some he did not remember at all.  When I questioned him on these and read back some of the things he had told me, he either remembered some of them with much less detail and some he just simply did not remember.  The period he had trouble remembering seem to be stories of the period in the mid years of his life, approximately when he was about 30 years of age to about when he was 60 years old.  That would put the period from about 1955 to 1985.  If we represent this in a similar chart, the following would illustrate this loss by these reduced yellow “bubbles”:

First stage of Reduced Memory – about 2.5 years ago

I spent several Saturdays trying to get him to recount the stories from that period in his life, but they were either never the same as the original versions;  most of them did not have near the detail and many of them he did not remember names, places or events, and some of them he could not recall.  For example, one of the stories related how I had to go to the bathroom during a time he took my aunt to her job (about 1958) and he had to stop on the side of the road so that I could go, and how I would made pictures in the snow with my pee.  He could never remember that event again.  This is one that I can personally corroborate because I remember the event.  Another example was how my Uncle migrated to Michigan and ended up in Pontiac.  In that particular story, I actually noticed and documented how that memory disappeared over a period of a few of months.

What would cause such a loss?  Maybe that period of time might have been very stressful for him and maybe other factors contributing to losing these memories first.  It was a period after we had migrated to the U.S. from Mexico, my mother was pressuring him to go back to Mexico because she did not like it here, he was working two jobs had eight kids and we were all school age.  Maybe other factors dominated his life and the memories of that period might not have been as significant.  Or, maybe the disease began to attack that part of the brain first where those memories resided and were some of the first ones to be erased.  It was clear that those memories were disappearing and they never came back.

By about a year ago (approximately one and one half years ago), the memory loss had affected all the memories from his whole life.  He could recall some events but the amount that he could recall was much diminished.  In our chart it would be represented by the yellow “bubbles” as follows:

 

Second stage of Reduced Memory – about 1.5 years ago

His memories were much diminished now.  He could still remember some aspects of the events but at a much reduced detail and many of them he could not remember at all.   Some of the key events in his more recent life, like the studies and the events leading to his ordination as a Deacon of the Catholic Church.  When I asked him specific questions about names of people and events, he would remember some of them with great difficulty, but many of the names of people and events disappeared from his memory.  In the chart I introduce a memory “bubble” at the end that I color in red.  This represents his current memory.  A year ago, this memory period could be measured in days.  However, it has been reduced little by little to a point where it is now more like about 10 minutes.  If you ask him something that happened more than 10 minutes ago, he will not remember.

About six to eight months ago, I noticed a further reduction in his capacity to remember.  Not only he could not initiate a story when asked, I had to reinforce an event, a name or information several times before he could recall the event, but he could not tell any information about it.  Sometimes I wondered if he just agreed with me that he remembered the event just to please me.  Hard to say, because It was hard for me to be unbiased about it because I wanted him to remember.  If I had to illustrate his capacity to remember it would have to be as follows where the events have now been reduced to a single points with no robust memory about them:

 Third stage of Reduced Memory – about 8 months ago

At this stage, his memories have been reduced to a single word or a single sentence about the event, when he is able to remember the event at all.  His present memory, represented by the small red “bubble” at the end was reduced to about ten minutes.  He is no longer able to carry a conversation about any topic from his past.  He can answer questions when asked directly and express a greeting like “how are you,” but he does not initiate a conversation.  He is no longer able to enjoy a movie or TV program, because the plot takes place in a space of time longer than 10 minutes.  He will enjoy a joke when it is short, and he enjoys short You-Tube videos about people and events.  He is able to have and enjoy telephone conversations with his brother - who is 88 years of age and following the same pattern of memory loss as my father; with his cousins, who are younger than he but also going through similar memory loss; and some nieces and nephews.   In mornings when I have breakfast with him, I make at least one or two phone calls to Mexico and talk to one of his relatives.  We also watch short You-Tube and Facebook videos, and he enjoys and can talk about them as long as it is done during his 10 minute memory period.

Recently, however, in the last several months, he is able to enjoy the conversation but he seems like not to know what to say.  I have noticed that he only does three things in these telephone conversations now:  1)  He will respond to direct questions, if they are not too complicated;  2) He will ask about their health and  3) He will give a blessing to whoever he is talking to.  

More recently, as I sit with him to have breakfast three or four times per week, it has been getting harder to even carry out a conversation where he only has to answer questions.  The questions have to be limited to very conventional things like the weather at that time, the birds and squirrels outside, how difficult it was to sleep last night, when and what he is going to eat.  He knows that he is forgetting things but he does not know the extent of what he has forgotten and how long it has been happening.  He will, however, listen very attentively to information on any topic and understands the concept well and asks questions.  For example, today I spoke to him about Global Warming, how it is caused, what are the consequences, how people will be affected.  He would ask very lucid questions of what we could do about it, what is the “government doing about it and what will happen to all those people who will be displaced in the seashore flooding from the polar ice melt.  Based on several test questions I made to him on Saturday, I estimate his memory profile, in relation to our chart is as follows:

Fourth Stage of Reduced Memory – today

He still remembers a few things about his life, and might even be able to describe, with a sentence or two, some aspect of that event.  But in order to do that he has to be reminded with a lot of facts about that event. 

It is always enjoyable to have breakfast with dad several times a week, but it is getting very hard for me. As I mentioned, for a 91-year old, he is a good health.  But his dementia has been advancing steadily for four years and he has gone from complete memory recall of all his life – a rich historical memory of 87 years four years ago, to a point now where his history of his life is now only about 10 minutes long.  He can still remember some aspects of his past if you remind him of key events.  Also he can still carry out a conversation, as long as you ask him direct questions and the topics discussed took place in the last ten minutes. It is very sad to see this condition in someone who was always very active, very curious, very adventurous, and not afraid to initiate new things. 

Dementia is probably the worse disease that anybody can get.  Physical ailments can either be cured or you die.  Dementia, however, can never be cured, and you still die while you are alive.  You die because  it robs your life; it robs your history; it robs your memories; it robs your knowledge of family, it leaves you with a shell of yourself.  It leaves you lonely, but you don’t know that you are lonely because you don’t have a long enough memory to feel lonely, you don’t have enough memories to feel sad and you grow to be totally dependent on others for everything.