The Artist

Dad is an artist. He never went to college, but he did go to art school at the Art Institute in Chicago. He became a commercial artist and worked as an art director in the point-of-purchase industry, i.e. displays that you see in stores.

Yesterday, my son had a posting on Facebook that he was looking for someone to create artwork for the demo of the new musical that he has written. A couple of his friends offered their art skills but had limited time. I sent him a quick message and said: "If nobody can do the art, Grandpa could use a project." My son sent me an excited text saying that he'd love for him to do it.

The timing was perfect. I had just finished telling Dad AGAIN that he wasn't going home. Actually, here's the conversation:

Dad: Hey, a week from Saturday, we're going to pack up.
Me: Um, OK. Where are you going?
Dad: Home, duh. 
Me: Dad, we talked about this yesterday. You can't go home.
Dad: We did NOT talk about this.
Me: Yes, we sat on the deck and had a long conversation about how you and Mom need somebody to care for you.
Dad: We don't need anyone to care for us. We're fine.

The conversation went on, but needless to say, I once again disappointed him. But somehow, this conversation made ME feel better because it reinforced the dementia diagnosis. I felt slightly less crazy. I still felt crappy, but less crazy.

So I got the text from my son, asked him for some direction in the illustration and then bounded into the library with an assignment for Dad. I told him his grandson needed his help and that it had to be done quickly.

Dad sat at the dining room table with the list of elements my son wanted in the illustration. Within 5 minutes, he created the art you see above. 5 minutes. It's definitely rough. You can see the shakiness in his hands, but my son LOVED it. And for those 5 minutes, Dad felt needed. He felt valued. Somehow, I have to make that happen more often.

The interesting thing about dementia is what Dad's brain retains and what simply escapes like a wisp of smoke. The art is in there, somewhere. I've been trying to get Dad to draw since he came here, but I guess he just needed a specific assignment.