My dad has always had an artistic streak and many years ago he went off to classes every week to improve his skills. It wasn't long before he ditched the classes and kept up with his hobby at home. He had a cupboard dedicated to every type of paint, brush, canvas, paper and easel. I can remember my mother complaining in latter years how my dad "couldn't be bothered" painting and what a waste of money all the equipment was as it was all going to waste. My dad was diagnosed with Dementia just over 2 years ago. Looking back with hindsight it is clear that he was already on that path for much longer than we originally thought. His eye to hand co-ordination was probably one of the first signs but as people get older, you see this as quite normal. The 'silly' things that followed, like trying to open a restaurant door with a hotel room key or forgetting who people were but once reminded could either feign recognition or actually could remember. How can we be sure of that now? Dementia was never given a thought back then. My mother thought my dad was doing things just to annoy her. Although he may have done many things to justify that, losing his marbles wasn't one of them.
The painting above was one of the last two paintings he did. I remember him working on them because they took him an awful long time to complete. Compared to his other works of art, the one above isn't as detailed. I remember the day when I visited my parents and my mother asked him to fetch it for me to give my opinion. Both my mother and I thought it was unfinished but we didn't have that conversation in front of my dad. The only reason he did as much as he did with it was because he was painting it for my daughter, Vicky. He wanted to give her a special gift to hang in her home in Maidstone. He painted two scenes, both for her. Some parts of the other painting makes no sense but it really doesn't matter. The sentiment is what is more important, perhaps even more so now.
Today I dropped dad off at the Day Centre. It's Wednesday. The only day I can have a leisurely shower and strut around in my knickers without a worry or a care. I washed my hair and didn't even dry it until it was almost time to go and pick dad up. A couple of things arrived in the post which reminded me that I am still in the midst of the Guardianship of my dad. I also had a couple of phone calls to take care of relating to my mother's Will and one other monitory nuisance without having to leave the room or muffle my voice to avoid dad picking up on words I don't want him to hear.
Today's word just happened to be FU*K as it happens.
I went to collect him from the Day Centre at 2.30 p.m. One of the ladies pulled me aside and said, "Your dad's been working on a little painting for the last few weeks. He's not quite finished it but he's doing really well. I'll go and get it so you can have a look."
😲
She showed me a little A5 work of art. A little house and a tree, an almost childlike interpretation but still...a PAINTING...by my DAD!! I informed her about my dad's passion for painting years ago and she was more than surprised. "You never told me that John." she smiled at dad. He smiled and looked at the painting as if to say who did that?
As we walked off to leave I said to him, "That's great that you're painting a wee picture dad. Have you enjoyed doing it?"
"Aye," he replied. "I've not done that for ages."
To be honest, it has only just struck me as I write...at the time he said that I laughed because I thought he meant that he hadn't done THAT particular painting for ages and knowing he's been doing a little bit each week and earlier today I thought his response was comical. But now I'm realising that he might have had a recollection of his favourite pastime. Stupid me!
In the car I waved to one of the staff and said to dad, "They're so lovely here aren't they?"
"Aye," he said. "It's a good place to be if there's a place to be. (make of that what you will...I do!) I've not been for a long time."
I suppose a week IS a long time in dad's head.
He has spent the rest of the day sitting in his recliner but has ants in his pants. I've a crick in my neck with turning constantly to keep an eye on him as he gets up to close the window blinds and attempts to lift up the 'dug' for whatever reason.
"NO dad," I say too loudly, ending more softly with, "she's too heavy for you!"
I swear the dug wiped away a bead of sweat from her brow before throwing a high five my way.
Dad went off to the toilet. As usual I look at the clock as he leaves. He's gone a bit too long so I go off to investigate. I can hear him sighing and padding around but nothing too out of the ordinary.
"Are you okay dad?" I enquire.
"Aye! I'm just coming out now," he replied.
The bathroom door opens and the bathroom is in darkness.
"There's no light on dad," I say, stating the obvious.
"I know," he said indignantly. "I don't need a light to find my arse!"
I have no words!
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