Separation Anxiety

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I have discovered that I have more in common with my son’s dog than I already knew. I already knew we were both lovable, we both liked being scratched by my wife Terry and we both have large, fat tails.

(Let me clarify that last remark. I’m talking about his fat tail and my fat butt, not a vestigial tail that I may or may not have been born with.)

When my son was very young I was his best friend. I guess he didn’t have quite the imagination needed to have an imaginary friend.  As he grew up he compiled many, many real friends. To this day when he goes out with Nick, an old high school friend, Nick cannot get over the fact that no matter where they go, from Hoboken to Atlantic City to Philadelphia, there is always someone there who knows my son.

When my son got older and became a man, and no longer needed my fatherly advice (so he thinks), he became my best friend.

But now he has a four-legged best friend.  And his new best friend and I have something else in common.

We both have separation anxiety.

Whereas my son’s dog, Harry, reacts to being alone by destroying things (window blinds seem to be his favorite target), I react in other ways.

When my son was very young I returned home from a two-week road trip in December, arriving home on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t wait to get home and see my young family after working on the road for so long, especially right before Christmas.

When I arrived back in town, I went from the airport directly to my parents’ house, where my kids were staying while Terry was working at the YMCA, teaching gymnastics to toddlers (GymJam). The kids (only two of them at that time) were upstairs playing with their older cousin. When I called for them to come down so they could greet their prodigal father, they said they were still playing and not ready to leave. I went upstairs and informed them, in so many words, that it was time to go.  I was anxious to get home and see my wife and prepare the house for Santa’s arrival. When my son vetoed my instructions, I picked him up and carried him down the steps so we could leave.

My son has always been an independent thinker and, as he said, was not ready to leave.  He decided that his only way of breaking free of my grasp while going down the steps was to bite me on the shoulder.

Needless to say, that was the first and only time that ever happened. When we reached the bottom of the steps I carefully placed him on the floor and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. I’m not sure what hurt more, his butt or my hand. Or my heart.

(a lot of child rearing ‘experts’ believe that spanking is not the proper way to handle misbehaving children. All I know is that was the only time I ever had to do that. I was never bit again and my son never gave me another reason to spank him again. After that incident, when I gave instructions, they were carried out. lesson learned.)

After that unceremonious reception we went home. It was the first time I was home in two weeks. I was very happy to be home. I went into my bedroom and cried like a baby.

To this day I’m not sure if I cried because I just had to beat my son, or the fact that it was not exactly the homecoming I had hoped for.  Either way, I think that was the beginning of my separation anxiety.

I was reminded of this anxiety this past two weeks when I was away from home on a nine-day road trip.  I have had many of these road trips over the years, but this was the first since I became a caregiver. Since my Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

I was hoping that while I was away, talking to Terry on the phone once or twice a day would ease my anxiety.  

It did not.

Knowing that my three children were spending time with Terry over the Thanksgiving holiday did wonders for my insecurities. But talking to Terry on the phone did not help that much.

As I mentioned in previous blogs, since Terry has been afflicted by this disease, she has become even quieter than she was when I first meet her, a shy, introverted cutie with an infectious smile.

These days, if I don’t start the conversation with her, it doesn’t happen. So talking on the phone has quite a bit of dead air. I tell her about my day and ask her about her day. But I can’t ask too many questions. With Terry’s memory, or lack thereof, it is tough.

I spoke to Terry Thanksgiving morning and she told me about the different foods the kids were preparing for the feast.  My son was making the turkey; my daughters were making the stuffing, gravy, potatoes, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, green beans, rolls and sangria.

Thanksgiving night I called Terry and asked her how her day was and I asked her what she ate. She guessed “chicken?”

Wiping a tear from my eye and taking a big swallow, I reminded her that it was probably turkey, not chicken. She laughed it off, as she always does. Thank God she still has her sense of humor.

A few weeks ago we were listening to music, as we always do, and one of my favorite 70’s bands, the Pretenders, was playing one of their first big hits, “Brass in Pocket.” One of the recurring lines in the song “I’m special, so special” was playing and Terry said “I’m special, like Special Ed.”

How can you not love that?

Its funny how when the kids were growing up and I was on the road, I depended on Terry to take care of the kids while I was gone. Now, I depend on my kids to take care of Terry while I am gone.

Full cycle. Who knew?

So now I am heading home from my road trip.  I can’t wait to see my wife. To talk to her in person.  She may not be able to remember what she had for dinner but she still remembers me. She still remembers how we feel about each other.   Those are things I don’t take for granted anymore.  I know there will be a day in the not too distant future that this will not be the case.  This disease will separate us from what we have, what we are.

That is the separation anxiety I am suffering from.

Until next time, stay connected to your loved ones.

Bud

Not Home for the Holidays

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and the thing I always enjoyed most about the holidays was being with my family. I miss that.

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays

‘Cause no matter how far away you roam

When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze

For the holidays you can’t beat home, sweet home.

When I was little my parents often took my sister and me to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving.  We would watch Underdog float down Broadway in the Macy’s parade in the morning and watch the Detroit Lion and Dallas Cowboy football games in the afternoon.

That house always smelled like coffee and fresh rolls in the morning, except on Thanksgiving, when it smelled like turkey.

That is what Thanksgiving was all about to me, the four F’s: feasting, floats, football and family.

That tradition continued when my wife Terry and I had our kids, taking them to my parent’s house for the holidays, where my sister would be with her daughter.

Unfortunately, I have been out of town with work for Thanksgiving four of the last six years, and will be away again this year. This year, I am afraid, will be the toughest.

A lot of people have no sympathy for me when it comes to being away for Thanksgiving. While I am pining for the sunshine of a friendly gaze, I have been, in fact, the envy of my friends who were pining for the sunshine associated with warmer weather, where I was roaming far away.

Last year I was in San Francisco for Thanksgiving and the year before that Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. (When I was in Puerto Vallarta I looked for people who used to frequent that city all the time 30 years ago: Captain Stubing, Gopher the purser and Isaac the bartender, but I didn’t see them. They must have been on the boat with Julie the Cruise Director). In 2009 I was in Cancun, Mexico and in 2007 Orlando, Florida.

Nice places. Warm weather. If you have to work, there are few better places to work for most people. For me, I would prefer working at home.

Ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I have been her constant companion. She is rarely not at my side. I make sure she gets her meds every morning, I make her meals. I take her to the store. I take her to her Bible study. I have even taken her to work with me. I hate leaving her alone. There are so many things she cannot do anymore. She is no longer independent.

When I do leave her home alone during the day I always make a “to do” list for her. Take a shower, do the dishes, read and write in your Memory Book, make yourself a lunch, work on your jigsaw puzzle, keep your phone on you, etc. Some things just don’t occur to her to do.

I am going to have to prepare a long “to do” list for next week. This will be the first time we have been apart since last winter.

I am dreading next week. I leave early Sunday morning for Kansas and Tuesday morning travel from Kansas to Orlando and do not return home until the following Monday. Nine days and eight nights away from home. Away from Terry. That scares me.

I was home for the 2010 and 2011 Thanksgivings and they were great. My son and I deep fried a turkey without blowing up the house and it tasted pretty good, especially the second time, when we figured out how to do it.  My daughters helped Terry with all of the other fixins and we had a great meal and a great day together.

Luckily, I have great kids who will help out as much as they can. Fortunately they will be home for the holidays, and I am sure they will have a great Thanksgiving Day. I doubt I will, although I will rest at ease knowing they are all together. At least for that day.

I have always dreaded September. Not only was it the end of summer but the beginning of my busy time of year at work. This year I can’t wait until December. Not because Christmas is getting closer, but because December 1 I will be coming home from my road trip.

Speaking of Christmas coming sooner, I’ve seen way too many Christmas ads on television already. It used to be that Thanksgiving was the gateway to Christmas. Once turkey day arrived, we were in the Christmas season. Black Friday would be the starting gun.

Now I think Halloween has become the springboard to Christmas. Ever since November rolled around I’ve seen Christmas lights going up on houses, Christmas shopping circulars in my mailbox and newspaper, and Christmas commercials on TV.

Normally I would plead “Can’t we just enjoy Thanksgiving first, before we start concentrating on Christmas?”

But I won’t be enjoying Thanksgiving this year. I won’t be giving thanks for the blessing of the harvest and of the preceding year. Not this year.

I do give thanks for the many positive things I have in my life. I am thankful that when my daughter hit a deer recently the only things that got dented were the car and the deer’s butt. I am thankful that I have a job that pays the bills (most of them, anyway). I am thankful that I have a roof over my head, and beer in my refrigerator. I am thankful that I have three great kids. I am thankful that I have great friends. And I am extremely thankful that I have the best wife anyone could ever hope for.  I am thankful that I am able to be her caregiver, that I am able to be there for her. Be there for her most of the time, anyway.

But that is the problem with being a caregiver. It is a job you never ask for but once you become one you hate it when you can’t give the care you need to give. It is not a job you want to outsource.

But sometimes I have no choice.

So while others are giving thanks and enjoying the holiday with friends and family, I will be keeping my fingers crossed that all goes well at home this coming week.

As you know, crossing your fingers is a hand gesture commonly used to wish for good luck, but it has also been used to implore God for protection. Historically it was used in order to allow early Christian believers to recognize one another during times of persecution. They would cross their fingers in order to invoke the power associated with the Christian cross for protection.

Now I would never compare my lot in life to those early Christians. We all have our own crosses to bear in this life, some heavier than others. I will, however, be asking for protection for Terry while I am gone.

And when I arrive home from my road trip, and Terry is safe and sound, I will then give thanks.

Until next time, have a Happy Thanksgiving. Hopefully with family, hopefully at home for the holiday, and hopefully Underdog won’t get loose, floating over Manhattan.

Bud

Salute

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and today is Veteran’s Day.

My father was a veteran of the Army and was always proud to state that while he served, there was never one invasion on Fort Dix, NJ, where he was stationed.

He was also happy that he was stationed in Central Florida for a while, where he met my mother.

My father also loved to tell a story about Veteran’s Day, November 11, and General Foch (no relation).

Marshall Ferdinand Foch was a French general who was appointed the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies in 1918.

A devout Catholic, Foch attended Mass every day at 11am, no matter where he was. Even in the middle of a battle field, he would grab a Catholic Chaplin and they would put together a make-shift Mass at 11am, so that Foch could pray for peace.

Foch is the person who accepted the German request for an armistice in 1918, bringing World War I to a halt. My father felt it was no coincidence that Foch went to Mass every day at 11am to pray for peace and the war ended on the 11^th day of the 11^th month at the 11^th hour.

That is why Veteran’s Day is celebrated today, on November 11.

I never served in the military. Growing up a ‘hippie-wanna-be’ I was against the war. War is expensive, Peace is priceless.  I was always a big believer in the motto: Suppose they gave a war and nobody came?

I had two uncles who served in Viet Nam and I saw what it did to them. My one uncle was a big semi-pro football player from the south and one of the toughest guys I ever met when I was a kid.  I really looked up to him, literally (6’4”, 265 pounds). He saw serious heat during the war, serving on the front lines. He was never wounded, physically, but many of his buddies were, and he came back a different person. For years he awoke in the middle of most nights screaming, covered in sweat. (sounds like a lot of my dates in college).

In my line of work I am around a lot of college athletes. I deal with 20 different varsity teams, but having been a college baseball player I have usually been a bit closer to the baseball players. In my 33 years on the job we’ve had over 30 players selected in the professional baseball draft, with four of them reaching the Major Leagues.  When the players would ask me about my baseball career I always gave them the same line. “Yea, I was almost drafted, but the Viet Nam war ended.”

That is probably the one good thing that the disgraced president Richard Nixon did; get us out of Viet Nam. Funny how JFK is always remembered so positively, him and Jackie and their ‘Camelot’ administration. Yet it was JFK who got us into Viet Nam in the first place.

And poor LBJ. He was surrounded with advisors who kept telling him we can win this thing as long as we kept escalating, sending in more troops. Once he figured out they were wrong he wanted no more of being President of a divided country.

I was always a big fan of John Lennon. Imagine there’s no country, it isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses believe that. That is why they don’t stand for the national anthem or serve in the military. They try to live their lives the way the Bible says to. To serve no man, no country, just God Jehovah.

It seems a bit impractical in today’s world, but if everyone in the world believed that, we might just have a perfect world. But we don’t. If we did there would be no wars. When was the last time there was not one single war going on somewhere in the world? Never, as long as history has been recorded. Even with all of those beauty pageant contestants wishing for World Peace.

Even though I have always been against war, I have always respected the American men and women who take part in them. Being a soldier deserves respect, and gratitude. It takes a certain type of person, with certain qualities.

My family recently became soldiers, so-to-speak, fighting the war on Alzheimer’s Disease, ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

Many of my friends and family members raised a great deal of money in Terry’s name when we attended a Walk to End Alzheimer’s in New England, and my son and daughter recently took part in a similar Walk in Philadelphia.

Like war, Alzheimer’s has many casualties. Alzheimer’s is the sixth leading cause of death.

And like Viet Nam, the fight against Alzheimer’s is a war I am afraid we cannot win. Not at this point, anyway.  But our advisors keep telling us that we can win this, eventually, if the support and assistance is escalated.

I am grateful that these advisors are not the same ones that LBJ had. I salute them for their work trying to find a cure.

As you know, a salute is a gesture used to display respect. In medieval times, Knights would raise their visors to each other to show their faces and to show friendly intentions.  In more modern times, it was military custom for subordinates to remove their headgear in the presence of superiors, even as recently as the American Revolution.  As military headgear grew more cumbersome in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, the act of removing your hat was gradually converted into the simpler gesture of grasping or touching the visor and issuing a courteous salutation.

A salute.

In baseball, we used to tip our caps to the crowd when we received applause. Unfortunately I rarely had the opportunity to tip my cap.  After I hit my first collegiate home run I returned to the dugout to find my cap at the bottom of the Gatorade jug.  When I returned to the field and tipped it I got a face full of green Gatorade. After the game a girl I was seeing greeted me with something much better than a salute, but could not figure out why my face was so sticky.

Today, I tip my cap to all members of the armed forces who have sacrificed so many things for the benefit of our country. Most of them have suffered far worse than a sticky face.

And I salute the many doctors and scientists who are working on a cure for Alzheimer’s.

There may never be World Peace, but hopefully someday there will be a cure for Alzheimer’s.

Until next time, tip your cap to a Vet, and fight for a cure to Alzheimer’s.

Bud