The Boy Teacher and the Father Student #68; Please not Dimentia

This episode is about possibilities discussed. Nobody here is suffering from dementia to my knowledge. This is a scenario. My personal scenario is self evident. I tend to be a little crazy. Dementid but not as a medical condition. Please read on knowing.

I am a lucky one. I began the road of dementia so early nobody caught it. I do not make light of dementia in severe cases. Mine is just a case of crazy. Dementia is seriously horrible. But like the flu may kill an old person, it just rests as dementia in a younger.

Around a campfire we may even laugh at me out there crazy. That is just fine by me. I blame it on severe chemotherapy that kept me from dying. But my hiking buddies say it started years before. You see I will come back from wherever my mind goes and hardly know where I am. All the doctors have run tests. They very kindly just say that I am way strange. But my stuff up there is intact.

So we roll to a fully fictional scenario. A part of this series that I will never confirm. My 30 something son’s dilemma. Assume for the story he is so far out there artistically that he has anger at the blatant missuses of humans. He writes impassioned pieces and performs them for beach cleanups and for Veterans. A fine man whose notions I aspire to.

F: Son I am a bit worried, or maybe concerned is the better word.

B: I know what you are troubled by dad and so am I.

F: But I have not voiced a word about it son.

B: We read the same page dad. Really, decades through thick and thin and you still don’t think I love and know you like the back of my hand.

F: What should we do? I mean I don’t have a clue here knowing her the way I do.

B: It is going to be brutal but it already is.

F: Who does she trust in? I mean who are her best buddies?

B: Dad she is alienating everyone.

F: Dang, crap and son of a bitch!! I am pulling over.

B: Dad what are you doing? You are acting all weird about this.

F: I need to kick something real hard and spit.

B: I get it.

F: What are we going to do?

B: She won’t let us do anything. She thinks she is just fine.

F: Ok, no harm so no foul. Let me think on this and let us meld to come up with a solution.

B: Dad you do know that your concept of love mind melding is as crazy as it gets?

F: It is not mind melding son it is love melding.

Quiet seems like a good place sometimes so we go on in silence. But not really. We are feeling and not talking. Sometimes talking screws things up. Feeling probably never does. It is how we “express” those feelings that can hurt and not heal. If you are a real man’s man holding hands may sound a bit out there. In the car and we hold hands. I pop up my left foot and we laugh at my bleeding big toe. Reckon I kicked that rock a bit hard. I really should start wearing shoes again, or not.

F: OK here is a plan. “Intervention”.

B: Are you nuts or just as crazy as her.

F: Let us get two things straight son; I am nuts and crazier than anyone you know. But perhaps I have a solution.

B: It will have to be a sneak attack. My sisters will have to be on board, ie your and mom’s daughters. This is going to be hard to set up. This is all wacked out.

F: Do you have a better deal?

B: Whilst smacking about me about the jaw he declares it is crap but maybe it could work.

F: Here is the plan I am working on, what do you think? I hold her down and you tie her up and gag her and we carry her downstairs and plop her on the couch with all of us around.

B: You scare me dude, it sounds like you have done this before but in a way illegal way.

F: OK I am working on plan B. We invite her out to a dinner and then at the table we simply tell her that we need to start some therapy,, right now!

B: Hmm. She likes to off in public. It could go wrong.

F: OK, plan “see”. We get her to the beach and take a walk and the beach. You know I mean plan “C”. We walk to our “group”.

B: This could work. Dad this could just work. Barefoot, bareknuckle and all. A full on ambush. Let us cogitate.

F: I taught you that word back in the 90’s, what did you learn it in fancy pantsy college again or just tossing it in my face. Alright I am not right minded right now. Do you know how complicated this will be with your stepmother?

B: I think you told me that every day is a bowl of cherries and each one has the pits. Get over it and step up. Mom needs you.

When do you just break down and cry? I reckon that God in all His wisdom took free will away from me. I just do not have choice anymore. I have no options. I hurt like you and I bleed like you but He took away my will to be angry or retaliate or hurt in anyway. It hurts sometimes. I want to hate. I get so angry but He slaps me down with someone to calm and speak of good and smart. I hear there are angels. I understand that maybe my Gabriel is one that they call My San which means American saint. My name is for America, it is Eric. I reckon Godparents have ideas.

F: I have to go away.

B: I know this dad and I remember this. Go and be better when you return.

F: I don’t know if I can leave right now.

B: That is when you know that you must.

F: But but and more buts.

B: Dad you are not the planet that the universe revolves around. You are just you. I know that is harsh but get the hell out of there. You need to get your own crap together before you get other people’s crap together and we need that.

F: Alright boy let me die over there and come back.

B: Good on you dad, die. I will be here when you come back, like always.

Some folk think that dying is this thing about your body going blank. How funny they have never been to hell. Death is about us losing breath but not about losing our soul. Those that go before their body are bound in a loop of hell. I do not cotton such for good folk. So our job is to prevent that loop. And or maybe alleviate it.

You are running as fast as you can and you run right up to that horse sprinting across that field and you leap with all your bloodied life and grab hold of that mane and jump with all your being. The beast must have a rider. For our loved ones we must grab that beast and hold on for dear life or lose them in that loop of hell. I would rather never give up, but keep trying to get on that beast over and over and over again. I swear that nobody goes into that hell on my watch. She can go into the wild waves of hell again and again but I shall swim it with her.

Hold my love in your hearts I am diving straight on in with a gal trying to leave me in dementia. I have what it takes to bring her back. No not to you and me. But to her and peace. Mr. and Mrs. Hell you have one “hell” of a battle on your hands. I do not fail well. It is a battle to my death. Dementia is not neutral or placid. It is my enemy and I shall fight it at every turn of my heart.