His name was Hubert Patrick Keenan. He was “Hubie” to most; “Pa” to me. He loved Strawberry ice cream. That fact is most beloved to me, and you’ll see why.
When my brothers and I were young, each time my grandparents were leaving to go back home to Chicago, Pa would slip us each a few dollars and say “go get yourself some ice cream.” He would serenade me with old Irish songs, play hide- and-seek with me until (sadly, I now realize) I was too old to care, and his New York accent never disappointed (I was born and bred an Indiana girl, what can I
say). His memory was impeccable—with any moment in his life, small or large, he knew the date, approximate time of day, and day of the week it occurred, no matter how long ago. Once you got him started with memories, his stories wouldn’t stop. I loved it, not only to see his love of times past but to hear his rich accent.
His wife, his rock, my Nana passed away in 1996. She endured a difficult end from a brain tumor—one that was swift and final in 3 short months. While it was both mentally and physically exhausting for the entire family, the impact of her death on Pa was immediately apparent. Shortly thereafter, he was shedding large amounts of weight, unable to properly feed himself. Reports were coming in from his
neighbors in both Chicago and Florida that he was driving erratically, on the wrong side of the road. Usually a “spiffy” man, he was unshaven, disheveled and aloof. He was no longer himself.
Pa was notoriously stubborn, so it was no walk in the park when my family decided the best place for him was to move in with my parents and I in Indiana. My mom, the middle child of 5, was his only daughter. She was tireless in her efforts to make our home feel equally his. At the time, I was 15 going on 16 and high school was enough to worry about let alone to understand Alzheimer’s disease, how it was affecting me, or what it meant for my Mom and Dad to be caretakers. In the year he lived with us we hired a home aide to take care of him while my parents were at work, but as the disease progressed and he became more verbally aggressive and irrational our family placed him in a nursing home which specialized in care to those with dementia. If you could ask Pa now he would say without a doubt the best part of his new home was that it had its own built-in ice cream parlor. Luckily, one of the 3 flavors on rotation was, indeed, Strawberry. After complications with pneumonia, and a difficult, unpredictable journey for us all, Pa passed away on October 1, 1999 at age 81.
In 2010, at age 64, my Mom was diagnosed with Early On-Set Alzheimer’s. While I’m older and wiser this time around, it’s not any easier. It’s only going to get harder. I’m aware of how it felt to blindly navigate the experience of this disease with Pa. As the youngest child of 4, my Mom’s only daughter, I now have a shred of empathy for the emotions and heartache my Mom faced caring for Pa. Just the same, my Dad cared for him as he would have for his own father. At this point, while the memory lapses and losses are becoming greater and more frequent, my Mom is still largely independent and for that we are grateful. As the process of this disease is alike in no two people, we are hopeful that she will maintain this high-functioning state for as long as possible.
I run in memory of my Grandpa Hubie and for my Mom’s hopeful future. I run for my Mom’s selfless courage to give Pa the very best in his worst days and for strength and patience for my Mom, my Dad and our family in the days, weeks, months and years ahead. It was very emotional, indescribable, to have my Mom cheer for me during my inaugural run with Team R2R last year; I can’t wait to have her there with me again this year.
My Mom’s favorite ice cream is Strawberry, too. I hope she never loses that. You can bet we’ll be celebrating together with some shortly after crossing the finish line!
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