17/01/2019
THERE'S NO OTHER WAY TO PUT IT: DEMENTIA SUCKS:
It was on a Sunday afternoon when we got the call.
Actually, an email.
My dad’s girlfriend at the time suggested that we come get him. We being my brother, sister and I.
He was slipping.
Slowly, but surely.
He was going downhill.
He was dad.
Diagnosed with Vascular Dementia just little more than a year earlier, Pops was beginning his decent … His final decent.
We eventually had to move him back to Michigan in December, 2016, essentially ripping him from his life because his significant other could no longer care for him.
He was used to life in Eastern Pennsylvania with his winters in Naples, Florida. Not part of the daily fabric of Rochester anymore … or Birmingham … or Pontiac … or the Michigan golf courses or local bars.
But he was still coming home.
It was the beginning of the end.
Dementia.
First it was memory loss of ordinary things. Then it was how to drive. How to dress properly.
Even basic hygiene went to the wayside. How to speak in a sentence that made, well, sense. How to balance finances or even grasp the fact of what money even is, or how to brush his teeth, or loop a belt through the top of his pants.
Eventually placed in a memory care facility in May of 2017, it was not getting pretty for dad.
The anger.
The confusion.
The bitterness.
The fear.
All of these things were making those who loved Raymond weary. It was taking its toll on everyone to say the least.
This picture is easily understood if someone whom you love has or is currently suffering from Dementia or Alzheimers. Perhaps a parent, a grandparent, an aunt, an uncle, or even a close family friend.
It’s awful … such an awful disease.
One day you are an adult and full of life one day — and then months later you are like a small child.
Dementia, for a lack of a better term, eats away at your brain bit-by-bit until you become like a child … and eventually you curl up and die. You shut down.
Again, such an awful nightmare. An awful disease.
We lost Raymond George Stickradt on December 27, 2018, just 14 days after his 80th birthday, and some 3.5 years after his diagnoses. He spent his final birthday and three more additional days in a hospital until returning home.
Once home he had a couple of really good days. He was singing and dancing, plus flirting daily with the female employees there. A player ’til the end. (That’s my dad!)
We began to realize there would be no more drives in the country, or rounds of golf. Things that dads or parents like to do with their kids, both young and old.
Six months prior to this we could still take him to a bar for a burger and a Budweiser, sharing a couple of laughs. This too came to a halt last summer — and we could clearly see the end was near.
As his light began to grow dim he endured his last 4.5 days in a wheelchair and bed — though he was walking less than a week before his passing.
Now, dad is gone.
So many have reached out to us since his last day. Though his passing has been hard on us all, in a way we were left with a sense of relief.
No more demise. No more earthly suffering. No more worries about his decline. No more sitting there holding his hand on Christmas Day as he sat almost listless knowing his final day was right around the corner.
It has been brought to my attention that numerous friends and acquaintances are sadly going through similar or exact same circumstances with their parents these days. This breaks my heart — our hearts.
It is a bumpy ride watching a loved one go through this, and ever-so-difficult to sit and watch it slowly take away the person that you love — and realizing that there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Gradually their life is stolen. They still share the same air, yet your loved one was actually gone months, maybe even years, before you realized it.
With you … until one day they are not.
The whole process — heartbreaking and gut-wrenching.
Personally, and for my two siblings, Timothy Stickradt and Jenefer Miller (Stickradt), we do thank you for all of your kind words — from the sympathy letters, phone calls and texts, to the thousands of private instant messages, Facebook and Instagram posts, emails, hugs, handshakes and embraces these past few weeks. The support has truly been amazing. We are truly grateful.
Dementia sucks. It really does.
There’s no other way to put it.
(Dan Stickradt is veteran sportswriter, president of the Stickradt Media Group, senior editor of www.northoaklandsports.com, a freelance writer for multiple publications in Michigan, and an agent with State Farm — The Adam Klemp Agency. He can be reached via email at dan.stickradt@northoaklandsports.com. Follow on Twitter as well as dozens of other social media platforms.)
