My Dad’s Got Dementia

Transcript lightly edited for clarity.

Paul:

My dad’s got dementia, and it is one of the toughest things I’ve had to watch him go through.

From a selfish perspective, it’s so, so hard.

I think the most difficult part of the whole thing isn’t watching Dad fade away in front of us. It’s watching what happens to the family and friends around him.

My dad, Scott, is a great bloke—the loveliest man you could meet. He’s very gentle, very quiet and very unassuming. He was very successful in his own way and taught me a hell of a lot.

He and I had some great times travelling around the country with motor racing and doing all sorts of cool things. When I was doing a lot of video production work, filming things like Wheels Car of the Year and Australia’s Boat of the Year, Dad would always come along.

After he retired, he became my right-hand man, helping with the cameras and all the equipment.

I’m talking about Dad as though he’s gone—and he kind of is.

He’s still alive. He’s in a nursing home in Melbourne, and I go down to see him as often as I can. Mum is down there, along with my brother, my sister-in-law and my nieces and nephews.

It’s so difficult watching him fade away.

But what it has taught me is that you can’t wait for tomorrow.

Dad had a sign, and he gave me a copy of it many years ago. It says, “Every dog has his day.”

I’ll post a picture of it. It has this fantastic-looking dog sitting at a dinner table in a bow tie, with all the crystal glasses and cutlery set out.

I get what Dad was saying: every dog has his day. I’ve used that philosophy quite a bit myself—but I’m not prepared to wait for that day anymore.

I think it’s time to pull the finger out and get on with it.

I keep asking where the last 20 years went. It’s kind of depressing, and I don’t want to bring everyone down. That isn’t what this show is about. This show is about uplifting people—and uplifting myself.

With that in mind, let’s be honest and talk about dementia and the sadness of watching someone fade away before your eyes.

It isn’t only dementia. There are cancers, motor neurone disease and all sorts of horrible conditions that leave you watching someone struggle in front of you.

Dementia can be such a silent thing. There might be small signs that it’s ticking along, but the reality is that those signs could also look like someone being under pressure, normal changes as they get older or general cognitive decline.

I’ve done a lot of research on my own, sitting up late at night thinking about Dad and reading about dementia. Dementia Australia offers some fantastic resources, and I’m sure similar organisations exist in other countries.

What I’ve found particularly difficult is getting everything sorted out.

I keep talking about Dad as though he’s gone, but he’s still very much alive. There isn’t a lot going on up there anymore. In fact, there’s nothing going on.

Dad would be very embarrassed and upset about me talking about him publicly like this. But I’m so proud of the man he was—and is—and of how he raised my brother and me, embraced our wives and loved all our kids.

Then there’s the love he has shown my mum along the way.

She’s a tough lady. She’s what we call a bull in a china shop: she breaks everything on the way through. It’s probably not politically correct to use that expression anymore, but I don’t mean it nastily. It’s simply a term Dad would use.

Mum is a very strong woman. She has always been a go-getter—the kind of person who gets involved, fixes the problem, pumps up the tyres and motivates everyone.

Watching Dad fade away has really taken the wind out of her sails.

That’s probably the hardest part for my brother Tim and me: being there to support Mum. She’s self-sufficient, but she definitely needs the love and care.

We’ll talk more about that over time, but we love you, Mum.

This isn’t about feeling sorry for ourselves. I’m simply trying to bring this to people’s attention.

Mum and Dad made some positive decisions a number of years ago. They dedicated themselves to spending time together, travelling and doing the things they wanted to do.

I don’t know how many laps of Australia they completed in the LandCruiser with the caravan. We sold it a few years ago, and the Cruiser had done about 380,000 kilometres. It was brand new when Dad bought it.

Eventually, they reached the point where they couldn’t do it anymore.

But what I’ve learned from them is that they did it. They got off their arses, went out and did it—and that’s a big lesson.

That’s exactly what I mean when I say, “F*CK! I’M 50—let’s get on with it.”

Get on with it, guys, girls and kids. Spend time with your parents while you can. Get out and do the things you want to do while you can.

I can tell you right now that it’s incredibly sad when someone is physically healthy, but their brain no longer wants to play the game and has no idea what’s going on.

You’re dealing with someone who has effectively regressed through life. Dad is probably like a four-year-old now—perhaps even younger. He can’t talk and mostly mumbles.

But he’s still Dad.

I can walk into the room and see a glint in his eye that makes me think he knows I belong. He reaches out his hand and mumbles a few things.

In my mind, he’s saying, “G’day, Paul. Good to see you, son.”

But I don’t really think he knows who I am.

Later this week, I’m heading back to Melbourne to see Dad. While I’m there, I’ll undoubtedly record a few more interviews for the show.

If you have a family member or parent—or if you’re concerned about yourself—go and get checked. My GP has been keeping an eye on me.

There may not be a lot you can do at the end of the day, but if there are things that could help stave some of this off, including different exercises, why wouldn’t you get on board?

It’s a really tough thing to watch, and it isn’t something you want your family to go through.

I’ll share more about our challenges with dementia and the process of planning for the future. It has certainly been a bumpy ride, and we’re not there yet.

It’s especially hard on the partner left behind and on the kids.

In Dad’s own words, he’s as happy as a pig in shit because he doesn’t know what’s going on. The rest of us have to pick up the pieces and keep moving forward.

That’s what he would want.

So, just a little word from me: keep smiling, everyone.

If the sun comes up and you’ve got a heartbeat, it’s a pretty bloody good day.

Get on with it.

My name’s Paul. Don’t forget to like, subscribe and follow the show—it really helps.

I’ll catch you again soon.

Cheers.