Dementia, Dad and Me
- a documentary film
I pick up an old, yellowed photograph. Staring back at me are four men, well-dressed in 3-piece suits with extravagant bow ties. The wild-haired one shoots me a murderous glare from beneath his dark brow. “Who are they?” I ask my father, showing him the photo. “ Oh…some Minzloff brothers...I don’t know exactly who …. your great grandfather may have taken the photo...” His voice, at first strong, trails off, fading like his memories, like the image in my hand.
The onset of his dementia has brought a dramatic change to the relationship I have with my father. Dementia, Dad and Me follows the two of us as we find new ways both to connect and to navigate the delicate transition of our roles from father–daughter to caregiver and cared for.
My father’s deep attachment to his archive of photographs and keepsakes is a touchstone for our conversations, while our family’s long association with the photographic medium –over 6 generations dating back to its invention– provides a natural framing device for the story. My father holds the threads which tie the work of these ancestors directly to my own art practice. While naturally an introvert he has always had strong recollections of the stories which shaped his family’s life.
Until now.
The onset of his dementia has brought a dramatic change to the relationship I have with my father. Dementia, Dad and Me follows the two of us as we find new ways both to connect and to navigate the delicate transition of our roles from father–daughter to caregiver and cared for.
My father’s deep attachment to his archive of photographs and keepsakes is a touchstone for our conversations, while our family’s long association with the photographic medium –over 6 generations dating back to its invention– provides a natural framing device for the story. My father holds the threads which tie the work of these ancestors directly to my own art practice. While naturally an introvert he has always had strong recollections of the stories which shaped his family’s life.
Until now.
Time is of the essence with this project as my father’s health, in particular his memory, is in rapid decline. At eighty-two he has Lewy Body Dementia. Protein deposits on his brain interrupt messages, leading to progressive loss of reasoning, language, and memory. I feel an urgent need to document this changing relationship, and to capture his stories before they disappear entirely. At times he is fully aware of the changes in his mental capacity and approach of end of life. I sense that he too has a pressing need to share his stories and catalogue his possessions.
A child of the second world war my father has saved everything ‘just in case’. It borders on hoarding. He has no desire to let keepsakes and other objects go, and seems unaware of the burden he is thrusting on me. I don't need his stuff to hold him in my heart. In spite of that, I’m reluctant to let them go as the family photographs and other keepsakes –school scribblers, a hunk of silver, glassware from his chemistry lab work– have become the ‘baits and lures’ which, on the right day, unlock the rich reserves of stories from Dad’s mind. In these moments Dad comes alive, chortling with laughter, details vividly recalled, our connection is reestablished.
I wonder about, and dread, the moment when he no longer recognizes me. And yet, I am fascinated by the mind’s process of simply letting go. In some regard I’m not surprised about the dementia, like an overstuffed filing cabinet he has accumulated an overwhelming amount of knowledge and objects. Is a weight lifted then, in that time of complete forgetting?
Dementia, Dad and Me is about the journey of memory, how a family’s history is passed down but some is jettisoned along the way because we can’t store everything. My father’s mind is working like that, I will throw out stuff, and in time my daughter Sophie-Ann will have even less connection with these objects and photos. Nevertheless she too will hold Dad in her heart.
Dad and I are working on this project together, following the path of Dementia wherever it takes us.
A child of the second world war my father has saved everything ‘just in case’. It borders on hoarding. He has no desire to let keepsakes and other objects go, and seems unaware of the burden he is thrusting on me. I don't need his stuff to hold him in my heart. In spite of that, I’m reluctant to let them go as the family photographs and other keepsakes –school scribblers, a hunk of silver, glassware from his chemistry lab work– have become the ‘baits and lures’ which, on the right day, unlock the rich reserves of stories from Dad’s mind. In these moments Dad comes alive, chortling with laughter, details vividly recalled, our connection is reestablished.
I wonder about, and dread, the moment when he no longer recognizes me. And yet, I am fascinated by the mind’s process of simply letting go. In some regard I’m not surprised about the dementia, like an overstuffed filing cabinet he has accumulated an overwhelming amount of knowledge and objects. Is a weight lifted then, in that time of complete forgetting?
Dementia, Dad and Me is about the journey of memory, how a family’s history is passed down but some is jettisoned along the way because we can’t store everything. My father’s mind is working like that, I will throw out stuff, and in time my daughter Sophie-Ann will have even less connection with these objects and photos. Nevertheless she too will hold Dad in her heart.
Dad and I are working on this project together, following the path of Dementia wherever it takes us.
Dementia, Dad and Me is generously funded by Arts Nova Scotia.
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