The Walker
Created | Updated Apr 17, 2004
My dad died on December 26, 1999. He suffered from Alzheimer's but, fortunately his heart was bad and he had a heart attack before the Alzheimer's reached end stage. This is a little vignette about the last time I saw him. Last Sunday was Father's Day in the US. I've had sort of a hard time coming to terms with his illness and death, and I hoped that writing this might help. It didn't.
The Walker
It was a gray, drizzly day that Christmas. The staff had decorated the nursing home the week before, trying to make the placed cheerful, for the visitor's benefit and for their own. The patients were oblivious to the tinsel, the poinsettias, the freshly cut holly and cedar.
We arrived with our small wrapped packages of useful items - slipper socks, a warm robe, sweat pants, a teddy bear. He had always loved Christmas. Maybe he will respond, I thought.
He was walking again. I could see him coming toward us through the glass in the security doors. I quickly punched in the coded password and waited for the doors to open, hoping the door would close before he reached us and tried to make his escape.
I took a deep breath and put on my cheerful face.
'Merry Christmas, Dad!' I hugged his bony frame and tried not to think about how frail he was.
'It's Christmas. Look, we've brought you some presents to unwrap. That will be fun.'
His face was expressionless. I don't know if he heard me or not. We tried to steer him into the lounge where a couple of other residents were staring blankly at the television. There was a commercial for holiday music. Bing Crosby was singing White Christmas. For a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition, a glimmer of life. It passed as quickly as it came, and he resumed his walking.
The staff had begun calling him 'The Walker'. He walked and walked and walked. The nursing home had a large courtyard safely enclosed behind solid brick walls. On sunny days he walked there, never stopping to rest. There were tables and chairs, stone benches, swings and gliders. But he never used any of them. He just walked.
We walked with him for a while, trying to make conversation. He didn't answer. He made low humming sounds. I listened carefully, hoping to recognize a melody. It was just sound.
'Has he had had anything to eat or drink today?'
'He's fine.' I was told.
'His color is worse,' I said. 'He's thinner each week.'
I suspected that they weren't feeding him but couldn't prove it. Maybe the weight loss came from all the walking. I decided that I would start bringing him milkshakes every evening.
'Wouldn't you like to sit in the lounge or take a nap? Or we could go into the dining room. I'll bet I could find you some eggnog, or a piece of fudge or some pudding.'
He didn't answer. He just walked.
'Dad, you need to rest.' I steered him toward his room and helped him sit on the side of his bed. 'Why don't you take a nap? Then when you wake up it will be time for your dinner.'
He stared at me blankly but let me take off his slippers and put his legs up on his bed. I kissed his forehead, wondering if he would ever recognize me again.
'We'll see you tomorrow, Dad. Maybe you'll feel like unwrapping your presents, then.'
He seemed to fall asleep, so we left. When we reached the end of the corridor and the security door, I turned around and saw him come out of his room and turn toward the door leading to the courtyard. He was walking again.
