Day 3: You Must Remember This

Wish 3: Remembering

Last Remembrance Day, November 11, in Canada, there were only three surviving veterans from World War I. As you read their stories, you realize that they are alive today because they lied about their ages when they enlisted. Two of them were only 16 years old when they joined. Only one of them was a survivor of the great Battle at Vimy Ridge in 1917.

The passing of 14 WWI veterans since 2002 has prompted Canadians to work hard at keeping the memory of that deciding battle, the heroism of Canadians and the freedoms we have earned. And the preservation of that memory seems to work. Almost all Canadian school children know the poem "In Flanders Fields". Two-thirds of adult Canadians think that November 11 is more significant than September 11. My daughter even wrote about it in her school paper.

Compared to the surviving veterans, my Papa is a kid. But he has lived an exciting life. In his lifetime, he experienced radio shows, World War II, hi-fi, lunar landings, color TV, plastic bags, microwave ovens, personal computers and cell phones. He's dabbled with complicated wiring and remotes in his music room. He mixed elaborate drinks in his bar. He built his own blend of coffee. Papa and Mama have traveled around the world.

Papa was the life of a party. His signature laugh could be heard at a party a block away. He puffed twice when he was excited. And then he would tell you a story, with lots of by-the-ways, and a heavy dose of embellishment. Even if you've heard the story before, it would sound more vibrant, more engaging than before. He was pulling everyone's leg, but they didn't mind.

And now he is forgetting all that. He is no longer comfortable with technology and remote controls. He can't recall the cities he visited in Europe. His older brothers have passed away, and he wonders why he hasn't heard from them. Papa goes about his days quietly - a stark contrast from his loud and outgoing personality. The one thing that still reminds us of his old self is his sense of humor.

My Papa, like millions of people around the world, is going through dementia, or Alzheimer's Disease (AD). AD robs people of their memories and personalities. When AD hits, it is too late to document the memories. Nothing can restore the synaptic links destroyed by plaque in the brain. Papa's memories are disappearing. They slowly fade away, starting with the most recent memories.

And it affects all those around him. His personality is changing. I can't imagine what Mama is feeling when the decisive man that she married is more and more dependent on her. I feel for my siblings who live nearby and check up on them regularly. So, when I visit my parents and siblings in the old country, they rejoice in my presence. They share what they are going through. It helps them and me.

It pains me, when I head back to Canada, to say goodbye. A few months ago, I kissed Papa on the forehead before heading out the door. I told him that I will be back soon. Then he looked up at me with the eyes of a kid and said, "you promise?" I know I can't make that promise because I'm not sure when I'll be back again. But I do know that when I return, he will tell me that I kept my promise.

My wish is for longer remembering - that people's parents can keep conversations going so that memories are passed down. I know I cannot wish for Papa's memories to come back, but I can wish for whatever memories he has to stay as long as possible. And I pray that even if he should forget our faces and our names, that the last thing he still remembers is how much we love him.