Notes to Readers – Page 28

July 27, 2011

Have you seen my father?

There is no agony and worry like that of a missing family member. We raise our kids hoping to keep them safe and teaching them to keep themselves from harm. We never expect that as we get older, our roles may change from that of child to parent of our parents. That’s what dementia does to a family, it reverses the roles of child and parent.

“Have you seen my father? The service said they dropped him off one hour ago, but he’s not here.” Her voice is filled with stress, worry and a little panic.

The neighborhood search begins as she calls 911.

The onset of dementia is a slow process, one filled with its own worries, for it takes about six months for a correct diagnosis. The confusion sets in and memory starts to fail. Where would an elderly man on foot go? What precautions might he take in this heat?

While the police arrived and asked questions, two neighbors fanned out in vehicles to scour the neighborhood. At mid day in hot weather, nobody is out. Everyone is inside in their air conditioning. Everyone that is except for one man, sitting at a patio table set with the umbrella up providing shade.

“Hi. Are you visiting?”

“No.”

“Are you Chris’s dad?”

“Yes. She’s not home and I’m waiting for her.”

“This is the neighbor’s house. Chris is around the corner and looking for you. Let me take you there.”

“Oh, good Lord. Okay.”

Walking down the street towards home, Chris is standing in the street talking with the police. I call her phone. “We’re walking down the street.” She waves and I wave back. Her dad just keeps walking along and greets her as if nothing has happened, maybe wondering why she wasn’t home.

After a few inquiries, it appears the service dropped him off at the wrong house. He didn’t know it was the wrong one, and so he was waiting for someone to come home. He raised the umbrella on the patio table for some shade.

It was a good outcome … this time.

Brent

July 18, 2011

Another story of true love rises to the radio waves

Some time ago, my wife relayed a story of love and companionship to me. I did some follow up because it haunted me until I wrote about it.

Today, another story surfaced, and this time, it came from the public airwaves. It’s a story about injury, separation and reunification. This one appears to have a better ending. But, it’s not your typical woman and man love story.

Here is the story from NPR.

Make sure you listen to both audio files, the official NPR broadcast and the audio of the naturalist describing their reuniting.

There is hope for love, even in assisted living.

Brent

June 19, 2011

Father’s Day memories

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there, and all the children remembering their dads.

Dad passed away in May 2001 after what seemed like an eternity of dealing with pulmonary fibrosis. During those last 18 months, I traveled to Arizona to see him as much as I could. There have been many times when I wished I could talk with him just one more time. He always had a way of counseling that left one feeling better about life’s paths.

Miller boys at EAA-1993 — The Miller boys attend 1993 EAA Fly-in, Oshkosh, Wisc. (l-r) Barry, Bob, Brian and Brent Miller.

When he was a kid, he would make model airplanes out of balsa wood and paper. One of Dad’s ambitions was to learn how to fly an airplane, to obtain a private pilot’s license. In his 40s, he accomplished that feat, but he never really did much flying afterwards. It was the goal that was reached—maybe one item on his bucket list—and that was good enough. In retirement, he became a member of the Commemorative Air Force, Arizona Squadron. He loved to take us over to the hangar and show us the museum and the airplanes–a B-17, a B-24 that he was helping to restore, a T-6. When we all visited for Mom and Dad’s 50th Anniversary, he took us boys over to the airport and bought us rides in that WWII, T-6 trainer.

Dad was not the only member of the family to earn a pilot’s license. All three of us boys studied, practiced and earned pilot’s license. I was the first at age 20, receiving my private pilot’s license just three days before departing for a tour of duty in Vietnam. Barry, the youngest, was next and Brian earned his pilot’s license last.

With four pilots in the family, it should not be a surprise that we might want to hang out at an airport or attend a flying show. We’ve all been to the big airshow at Oshkosh, WI—the Experimental Aircraft Association annual fly-in, but we had never been there before—all four of us together. In 1993, we made that happen. We spent the day looking at airplanes and dreaming of loftier adventures.

So, on this Father’s Day, I’m remembering Dad and how he was like a kid whenever he was around airplanes. I haven’t been flying for years, but I still look skyward when a plane flies over. I guess it’s the kid in me—just like Dad.

See you on the highway.

Brent