Et cetera : Alzheimer's takes the mind of a Vinton coach

“Once proud and full of passion, he fought the cause of man.

Many people loved his courage; many followed his commands.

“He changed the old into the new and the course of things to come.

“And then one day we noticed he was gone.”

-- From “Closest Chronicles,” by Kansas (1977)

Here Dean gives me this big send up on being the sports writer for Vinton Today and suddenly I vanish. Sorry about that; it hasn’t been by choice.

Our family has been in a fight for the last few years with a horrible, ugly foe in the name of Alzheimer’s disease. It has robbed us of my father, my mother’s husband and my son’s grandfather. It has robbed the community of a great and beloved mind, and Vinton Country Club of a pretty good golfer (well, he always thought he was, anyway).

My father was a teacher and coach. He taught almost three generations of students about biology, the workings of the human body and how to drive. As a coach he was always proud of his champions (which, in his mind, included every kid who ever wrestled or played football for him), but even prouder of the doctors and lawyers and bankers and teachers and business people and everyone else who walked through his classroom doors at Washington High School for 32 years.

I am always so struck by the number of people who, even if they are in their 60s today, still refer to Dad as either “Mr. Holmes” or “Coach.” Most high school students can’t wait to get out of school so they can start calling teachers by their first name. Dad still gets “Coach.” There could be no higher form of respect.

Dad used to like to pull little jokes on his students. He would be standing in the door of the old biology room on the top floor of the old high school and a student (his target of the moment) would walk by. He would wait until they got all the way to the end of the hallway, just about to enter the stairway, and shout, “Hey (insert name here), come here a minute.”

The student would come all the way back to Dad, waiting to hear words of wisdom, and he’d smile and say, “Where would you have been right now if I hadn’t called you back here?”

Then he’d step back into his room and close the door with a laugh as the bell rang and the befuddled student stood there, realizing they’d been had and that they now had to trudge to office for tardy slip.

Even those students who had that stunt pulled on them probably still look back on that with a smile. I know I do (yes, he got me once, too).

Dad was also one of the top wrestling officials in the state in his day. He was Iowa Official of the Year three times and is a member of Iowa High School Athletic Association’s Hall of Fame. He worked 19 State wrestling tournaments, three NCAA Division II tournaments, the Big Ten tournament, and countless Northern Iowa and University of Iowa dual meets. In one of the first college meets he ever worked, he warned and almost penalized a young, loud-mouthed Hawkeye assistant coach named Dan Gable.

But that was a long time ago. Today, it seems like an eternity.

The beautiful mind that was my father’s is gone today. The body is still there, at times the smile, and there are flashes of memory here and there. And even if the memory isn’t there, visitors still get a smile and a hello. And even though most of the time he thinks it’s 1967 and we live in Colorado, someone asking him how he’s doing will get a reply like “Winnin’ one and losin’ nine, but at least I’m winnin’ the one.”

And, even if he doesn’t know who you are, he’ll try to act like he does as you tell him, and relate some memory of him of the past. For the most part he still knows me, Mom, Angie and his “Ol’ Buddy,” our son Sage. He recognizes his brother, a few old friends, but otherwise, the world is a mystery to him.

His days are now spent wandering the halls of TLC unit at the Vinton Lutheran Home. He helps the nurses with lunch, and sits at table folding and unfolding blank pieces of paper. Occasionally, he thumbs through the photo albums we bought and the eyes will flash and he’ll tell a story from his days in the Navy or high school.

It’s been hard to see. This man, not that long ago so sharp and clever, is now lost and confused. He doesn’t know where he is or why he is there, and all he ever wants to do is go home. And sometimes he cries because he can’t.

It’s been hard to watch. Dad isn’t even 80 yet, but at an age many people are enjoying their golden years on sandy beaches, Dad lives in a tiny world of a hospital bed, a small white TV and his old blue recliner. This man who taught so many now has to be reminded what day it is and where he is.

And, then there’s Mom. It’s been so hard for her. They’ve been together over 60 years and this December will be their 59th wedding anniversary. But like Dad, she’s alone now too. She has the cats, Smoky and Cleo, and her crocheting and TV shows and her surprise visits from her grandson (we only live a block apart now), but there are also the lonely nights when she cries softly because she misses Dad.

That’s the insidious thing about Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia; long before the body fails, the mind is gone. As a family member of an Alzheimer’s patient, the grieving process seems endless. You go from initial shock of them having to enter a nursing home, to the day that they no longer recognize you to the day they ultimately pass away.

A while back, I accepted that my Dad -- the Don Holmes I grew up with and honored, respected and loved – is gone. I have already grieved over that. Now there’s a cute little old guy wandering the halls of the Lutheran Home. We still visit him and talk to him and are responsible for him and love him very much. It’s still Don Holmes, but not the one we all know and remember. And we miss him.

But we also press on. While dealing with issues with both Mom and Dad has taken me away from my planned contribution to Vinton Today, trust me, by the time the summer sports season gets started, I’ll be right back in the saddle as VT’s voice of Vikette softball.

Finally, Mom loves getting mail. If any one would like to, please feel free to drop her a note; she’s still in the house they’ve lived in for 31 years at 1409 E Avenue in Vinton. She’d love to hear from old friends.

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Reader's Comments:

Jeff, We are sad to hear of how loss of memory has affected your dad, and how it has affected your mom's and you and other family members. Several years ago, after Mom passed to her heavenly home, Dad, Bill, married a wonderful widow. They had about 13 memorably happy years together, then Esta began showing signs of dementia--alzheimers, or something else--we aren't certain, but it was aweful! We can identify with what your mom and you and your son are going through, and we pray for the Lord's comfort and peace, and for a cure for Alzheimers!

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Thank You, Jeff for sharing that heart warming story about your father. It will stay with me for a long time and I shall share it with our boys who I know remember him.
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Sensitively and courageously written, Jeff. My husband, Frank, is one of the thousands who call Don "Coach" yet, and Barb and Don have been golf friends ever since we moved back to Vinton in 1975. Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia are cruel diseases on the patient and on the family and friends. Before he passed away last month, my Dad had sunk into dementia, but his final gift to us was unexpected: to have his memory and personality restored for two weeks after he decided to forego further dialysis, after 4 1/2 years. Those moments of clarity, the joke-telling and the memories are very precious to us now. I wish you and your family, and especially Barb, such gifts of moments and memories, and to Don, our respect and our love.
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Jeff has so eloquently and accurately put into words what it feels like to have a parent with Alzheimer's disease. I know, my mother has it, too. Watching the sharp woman who would spend an hour to be sure her checkbook balanced to the last penny and kept up on national and local issues slowly become a confused, frightened lost soul has to be the hardest thing that anyone can experience unless you are the one suffering from AD. My mom still recognizes my dad, brother and me and knows she has a grandson, but confuses me with her sisters and thinks she still works at the Treasurer's Office at the Courthouse. Mom is in the Annex at the hospital and about once a week I receive a call asking if I will come and take her home because Dad must have had to work late and couldn't pick her up. I used to try explaining to her where she was, but have now been reduced to lying to her that I will be there shortly. You see, five minutes after our conversation, she'll never remember that we talked much less that I said I would be there to pick her up. Explaining to her that someone died 20, 30 or more years ago is the hardest when she asks if you have seen "Mama and Daddy" or someone else from her distant past. You also live with the fear that when you forget a person's name or misplace something, if you, too, will be the victim of this terrible disease. I am fortunate in that a co-worker's mother also suffers from AD, but is much farther along. She's back in her childhood and doesn't know that she has children of her own. We share stories and wipe tears away as we recall the moms we once had. Mom still has her sense of humor which has always gotten our family through the hardships of life. And as my brother and I like to say, "As long as Mom still has that, we know she's still in there. Once the humor is gone, she will be, too". Until then, we take advantage of the times when she's having a good day and hold on to the humor on her bad days. There's not a lot more that you can do. So thank you, Jeff, and know that you...

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Jeff, your dad is a wonderful guy.. I love seeing him when I go back to the TLC Unit, my grandpa just recently passed at the Lutheran Home and he also had Alzheimers, its really sad to see the person you once knew and loved sooo dearly go through that. Its tough but we learn to try and deal with it. Every time I talk to Don I ask him how he is and he always say, "Well like I used to say, winning one and losing nine," its just so cute to hear it, because people tell me he used to tell that to the school kids. He has such a heart and its just really hard to see your loved ones go through it. Just have the family stick together and you will get through it I promise.

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(Editor's Note: It seems like this has hit a chord with so many of us! From those of us who have seen it in the past, to those of us dealing with it in the present...wishing your family the best.)

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Hi all: I just wanted to thank everyone for your kind comments and your support. In this trying time, your words are a great comfort. I also wanted to let you all know that Dad has suffered some complications and we'll be taking him back to Iowa City tomorrow. Please keep him in your prayers. Jeff

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I received a copy of the article and the many comments that were posted from it. My mom also suffers from this ugly disease we call Alzheimer's. But, there is one thing different in our situation (that would be my sister and I. We became determined to better understand this disease, how we could help Mom face it and all the others who are around her. I have watched people be fearful around those with this disease and shy away from them, when I know their greatest joy is when someone smiles and talks to them. That is why I offer my time as a facilitator for an Alzheimer's Suupport Group. It is important for caregivers, family and friends to become more knowledgeable about this disease but to also know how to make joy come from the time we spend with our loved ones. In our group, we help people understand the stages, we help people deal with emotions they are feeling, give them an opportunity to vent and then offer up suggestions of what works in our situations. Please, if you are one of those who has a loved one with this ugly disease, join us on the third Wednesday of the month at 1:00 pm at Windsor Manor in Vinton. If the time doesn't work for you and you wish to talk to someone, please give me a call at 319-573-5605. I have received my training from the East Central Iowa Alzheimer's Association and I know we could find someone to assist you.

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Jeff, your dad was my teacher as he was to many. Your dad was one of my favorite. I will never forget when we asked for a hall pass saying "can I" he would state "I don't know can you?" I also know your mom and your grandma, your mom's mom. She was my favorite of them all, she had energy and my knickname from her was "pink cheeks". Whenever your mom and dad visited her i always took time to visit with them and what surprises me was that your dad,a very wonderful man and person,after all these years and students he had taught he still remembered my sister who graduated in 1981 and me which I graduated in 1984. That is remarkable. He is a very special person, I just wanted to share that with you. Thank you for having wonderful parents