Unforgettable Memories: A Daughter’s View of Alzheimer’s
by Susan Tate

“It’s so amazing, Susan. Every day I go to work on a boxcar with wings and wherever it lands, my bed is there!” The first time my dad, a retired railroad engineer, told me of his flying boxcar experience, my heart and head ached. How could my father—this clear-thinking, grounded, rational man—have such visions? I remember gently replying, “Oh, Dad, you know the part of your brain that’s just not connecting as clearly as it used to? Well, that’s the part that makes you think you traveled on a boxcar with wings.” “Okay,” he obediently replied. 

I thought I was controlling the situation quite nicely. What an illusion! It took me almost two years to stop fighting against my father’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. When I surrendered and embraced him as he was appearing in that moment, it seemed I found a previously undiscovered pathway into my dad’s mind.

Learning more about this illness provided me with the opportunity to discover peace amidst the chaos and pain that unfolded as I watched my dad begin to leave this earth, head first. I eventually learned to “meet him where he was” rather than trying to drag him back to my reality. When I let go and realized that his reality was his reality and totally different from mine, I began to find even more peace.

It’s been almost ten years since my father died and I can still vividly recall a poignant, unforgettable memory. On one of our last walks together, I looked into my father’s eyes and said, “Dad, tell me more about the boxcar with wings.” His face lit up as he described how this unique train took off and landed so smoothly and how much fun it was to ride it. And my delight came when I was able to let go and be with him right where he was, not where I wanted him to be. For a while after his death, I spent time wishing I had met him there sooner. Now I know I did the best I could at the time. I know he knows it too.

Soon after my father died, I observed myself joking about “having a senior moment” or using humor to cover up fearful thoughts of a possible future with this illness. It was during this time that the book, The Biology of Belief by Bruce Lipton, Ph.D., somehow landed in my hands. It proved to be a powerful source that was instrumental in supporting my shift from believing I might be genetically “pre-disposed” to getting Alzheimer’s (or dying of colon cancer like my mom did) into a strong belief that I plan to live a long, healthy life.

Lipton’s book offers an updated version of what is called “the new biology” and its rendering of the latest advances in biology and quantum mechanics rings true for me. He states, “In the past, we've been taught that living beings are like machines run by biochemicals and DNA. What we now know is that our entire biology is shaped by the intelligence of each of our 50 trillion cells. And the single most important way to influence them is through the energy of our beliefs.” This world-renowned cellular biologist captured my attention! I agree with the premise that our biology in NOT our destiny.

I decided to observe my fearful thoughts, words, and beliefs and then mindfully chose to replace them by affirming, “I remember everything I really need to know when I need to know it!”

And sometimes I ask others to assist me in remembering. For example, a while back I asked my sister what song was playing when Dad took his last breath. She thought I was joking at first, and then sweetly replied, “Unforgettable.”

I don’t know about you, but my plan is to nutrient my trillions of cells on a physical and mental level to provide the kind of nourishment that every cell in my body will find nurturing and delicious today. I want my unforgettable memories to be healthy and pleasure-filled. How about you?