A Different Lens

As my father’s Alzheimer’s progressed, he began having trouble with tasks that required multiple steps. He would
call to ask me to help him remember the order of changing his clothes. Each time, I’d slowly talk him through the steps, with pauses in between while he would lay down the phone to perform that step. When we’d finished, I’d hang up the phone and cry. It was painful when I’d think about this man who’d once been a college administrator having to struggle just to get dressed.

But then one day he called me back, telling me the list I had written up and posted in his bedroom had solved the problem. He was happy to say he had successfully readied himself for the day without having to make a phone call. “Thank you, babe,” he said, his voice triumphant.

I realized that what might seem sad and tragic at first glance could become a positive if looked at through a different lens. I had to learn that I couldn’t place my expectations—or my memories of the way things used to be—on my dad. When I finally let that go, his accomplishment ended up bringing both of us joy and reminding me that no matter our situation, God always provides.