The Long Mourning
Dad’s Dementia
Empty
This is the moment when Dad disappears, and I am left to wonder, “What’s inside, where has he gone, is he thinking, or is this nothingness?”
White Out
Mouse Count
Dad smoked 3 packs a day, had 2 heart attacks in 1 week, then walked to hospital where doctor said to quit smoking, so he stopped cold turkey. He wouldn’t take aspirin, but drank beer with lunch, cocktail at 5, wine with dinner, and Armagnac after. He gave great parties and posted a long list of oxymorons on the fridge where guests could add their own: Unbiased Opinion, Civil War, Jumbo Shrimp, Pretty Ugly, Awfully Good, Freezer Burn - plus others not suitable for here.
Helpless
I try to help Dad cope during the last years of his life, avoiding topics that upset him, letting him vent frustrations – holding his hand the way he used to support me. But his story will end, and I feel helpless.
Crash
It’s all downhill for Dad. His body rebels while his mind remains painfully aware. Yet there are alarming moments when he doesn’t connect the dots. He is shuffled from one facility to the next, and clearly annoyed. We are drained of energy.
Disorder
Missing Man
Dad served in the Navy, but now he’s a prisoner. This hospital is a “detention center” - they won’t let him eat at his favorite restaurant. On our first dinner without him, we light a single candle, but it ruptures in the middle and burns at both ends.
Out of Reach
Dad says, “Nursing homes are where old people go to die.” The care-givers are “nice enough, but the food is not the Ritz.” He wants the doctor to give the “all-clear” so he can go back home to the Farm. I sympathize while knowing he will never return home again.
Project Statement
The Long Mourning is about dementia, my dad, and how it felt to watch his life deteriorate. It’s a story told from two angles — the state of my dad during our conversations, with all his frustrations and longing, and how his condition affected me and my desire to understand what he was going through.
The diptychs evolved after three years of photographing every moment of our visits, then continuing to record my reactions as I wandered the places of shared memories in an effort to decompress before the next day’s visit.
The title refers to all those years when I lived without my dad. Starting at age 7 after the divorce, Mom moved the kids to a new country. During my late forties, Dad’s alcohol intake and increased agitation made him impossible to visit for more than 36 hours. In his final years, isolated from society, I tried my best to give him back the moments we had lost.