I don’t expect anyone to read this.

Just felt inclined to express.

Alzheimer’s is a bitch

My dad passed away six years ago this month, in his early 70s. He was the son of Lebanese immigrants and embodied that old-world work ethic: relentless, always working, and never taking time to relax. He owned a business and poured everything he had into family and work, leaving little room for hobbies or personal enjoyment.

I worked with him a lot throughout my childhood and even after graduating college. Eventually, I had to leave the family business, knowing it would destroy our already adversarial relationship if I stayed any longer.

When I was 14, Dad was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer. He went to the Mayo Clinic for surgery, endured a year of chemotherapy, and somehow survived. A couple of years later, he was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Then, in the early 2000s, I started noticing his memory was slipping, and he was making strange decisions.

I kept telling my family, “Something’s not right with Dad,” but they refused to acknowledge it for nearly a decade.

Eventually, his dementia and Alzheimer’s became so severe that we had to close the family business and declare dad bankrupt. The entire process was an enormous pain in the ass. Shortly after, my mom sold the family house of 30 years, bought a small condo, and moved in to care for Dad.

Alzheimer’s and dementia are fked up diseases. In my dad’s case, he eventually forgot how to speak and was mostly silent for the last five years of his life. He’d just shuffle around with a big, confused smile on his face, completely lost but somehow cheerful. Toward the end, he couldn’t get out of bed or go to the bathroom on his own. It totally sucked.

Mom was overwhelmed with caregiving and we started discussing the possibility of assisted living for dad. Then, one Monday morning, she called to tell me Dad had developed a bad cough. By that afternoon, it had worsened, and paramedics took him to the ER.

A friend of mine, who happened to be the ER doctor treating him, said that Dad had pneumonia, likely caused by aspirating food into his lungs. His body had forgotten the exact mechanics of swallowing, and he inhaled some food. She was direct with me: “It’s not likely he’ll recover. You should start making arrangements.”

Dad passed away suddenly within 48 hours. That sucked, but honestly, it felt like a blessing. Watching someone who had worked so hard his entire life, only to be robbed of retirement and meaningful time with his family. The caregiving had become overwhelming, and the financial strain of potential family bankruptcy was looming over us. It was a shit situation all around, and his passing, though devastating, brought an end to his suffering and the chaos.

What’s bizarre is that just two days before my mom called about Dad’s cough, I had a celestial experience.

I couldn’t sleep and spent a few hours in bed typing out Dad’s eulogy on my phone. I can’t explain it, but somehow, I had the intuition that the end was near.

My biggest regret is that dad and never talked openly about our relationship as father and son.

I never thanked him for working so hard for the family & teaching me critical life lessons. We didn’t have the kind of relationship where we said “I love you” or “I’m proud of you.”

I’ve made a conscious effort to change that with my boys. Emotional candor, something I wish I’d had with my dad, and something I’ll never take for granted again.