By Sidney Perez
We lost him a little at a time. In 2000, my Dad, then 80, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, and it began: He moved off ever so slowly, calling back at us as he went, trying to keep us in his sight.
For the most part, he was joyful, although keenly aware of what was happening to his mind. He smiled, sang, and danced the Irish jig; often all it took was a ride to the grocery store to delight him, or attending morning mass, or a stop at Bruster's for butter pecan ice cream. A successful, self-made businessman who ran his management consulting company in Pittsburgh for over 30 years, he showed us how to bravely confront a future with uncertainty and little hope. He told us how much he loved us as often as he could. And we, in turn, were lovingly resolute about keeping him at home with Mom as long as possible.
For the most part, he was joyful, although keenly aware of what was happening to his mind. He smiled, sang, and danced the Irish jig; often all it took was a ride to the grocery store to delight him, or attending morning mass, or a stop at Bruster's for butter pecan ice cream. A successful, self-made businessman who ran his management consulting company in Pittsburgh for over 30 years, he showed us how to bravely confront a future with uncertainty and little hope. He told us how much he loved us as often as he could. And we, in turn, were lovingly resolute about keeping him at home with Mom as long as possible.
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