April Fool

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and even though this is my 62^nd April 1^st, I am still playing the fool. The first of April is the day I always remember what I am the other 364 days.

Now that I am at the tail end of middle age, I think back to THE middle ages, medieval times, the age of discovery, when the fool was the stand-up comedian, the court jester. The funny guy.

My age of discovery, grade school, was when I first got a taste of being the funny guy, and since then that has always brought me joy.

Nowadays, when there is rarely any joy in Mudville, that is what I do all day, try to entertain my wife Terry, who is in the middle stage of Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

These days I am always playing the fool. Every day is April 1. I WISH someone was playing a practical joke on me.

The first joke I ever told in public, outside of my house or circle of friends, was in grade school. The teacher was talking about ostriches. I raised my hand and, when called upon, told her that I had recently visited an ostrich farm. I told her that these two large ostriches were walking toward a smaller one. All of a sudden, the smaller one stuck his head in the sand. Then the one big ostrich said to the other big ostrich, “Where did he go?”

No one laughed until the teacher did, then everyone did. The teacher made me tell it again to the teacher and class across the hall. It was an older class so some laughed, some threw things at me. Some did both. I felt pretty good that day.

These days, the days I feel pretty good are pretty few and far between. Like once every Blue Moon. And not just because Terry hardly laughs at my jokes anymore, or even gets them. But after a tough day yesterday she did last night. Must have been the Blue Moon we had last night. (It was probably watching Villanova and her Red Sox win.)

In high school, after playing tackle football in the Kenwood neighborhood, we would drink beer in Rizzo’s backyard or by the creek (pronounced crick) and try to make each other laugh. That was a talented crowd so you had to bring you’re ‘A’ game or keep your mouth shut. That was my quiet period.

In my professional career I enjoyed our dry, monthly 8am staff meetings, so I could say anything remotely funny and that would break the mood and get a laugh.

In college I had a roommate for three years who would laugh at the drop of a hat and we hung out with girls who would do the same, so I enjoyed making them laugh.

And as far as practical jokes go, every day could have been April 1 the way we carried on in the college dorms.

In college I could always find a way to make the girls laugh. Make the girls like me, however, was a different story. But after college I finally found a girl who I made laugh, I made like me, and even love me, almost as much as I loved her.

I miss that girl.

My wife Terry today is no longer the Terry I feel in love with almost 40 years ago. Granted, I am not the same knucklehead I was either. All of my knuckles are much larger now, including the one on my shoulders.  (How could I have become old and wise if I wasn’t once young and crazy?).

But Terry’s knucklehead is shrinking. Rapidly. It’s like it has picked up speed. Her change lately has been a major decline, like sledding down Kilimanjaro, like falling down the steps of the Empire State Building (I realize there are probably 20 buildings bigger but I’m old, so I use old references).

It wasn’t like I didn’t know this was coming. I have been preparing myself for this ever since the good doctors at the Loyola Clinic in Baltimore gave us the news four years ago that turned our world upside down. I wish that was a practical joke.

I thought I was ready for this. Turns out I was the fool.

I really thought I could handle it. I think The Bible says something about God won’t give you more than what you can handle.  At least not without his help. I am afraid I am getting pretty close to finding out just how much that is.

My friends all tell me I need a break from caregiving. Just a few hours a few times a week. But I can’t. It is not like leaving an infant with someone to babysit. The infant doesn’t know or care who is changing its diaper.

And not only that, but I can’t relax and enjoy my time away from Terry because the entire time I am not with her I am hurrying to get back to be with her, to make sure she is okay.

A couple of days ago, Good Friday, was a good day. We didn’t good outside as planned, it was very cloudy, almost dark. (ever notice it is almost always cloudy on Good Friday?) But we still had a good day. Terry was in good spirits most of the day and was laughing at times.

Yesterday was just the opposite. Terry woke up fightin’ mad, extremely ornery almost all day, and it makes for a long day.

My days may go slow but the months and years are going fast. I can’t believe it has been 18 months since I quit my job and became a full-time caregiver.

There will be a day way too soon when Terry doesn’t know or care who is taking care of her, and maybe then I will be able to ‘enjoy’ some time for myself. But I’m certainly not looking forward to that day.

So until then, I will play the fool.

A practical joke usually makes the victim feel discomfort, perplexity, confusion.

Terry and I both feel all of those things these days. It seems like we are both the victim of a mean, April 1^st practical joke.

Until next time, don’t be a fool. Just enjoy each other while you can. Happy Easter.

Bud