Frequent Questions.

As his condition really started to set in, the most noticeable thing, for us kids anyway, was the frequent questions.  Dad was repeating questions.  The same questions.  Constantly.

Do you know where your brother is today?

He's at home Dad.

Oh, is he. That's good.

So you know where he is, do you?

Yes Dad. He's at home, doing stuff.

Oh.  That's good he's doing things.

Where is he while he's doing these things?

He's at his place.

Oh. That's good.

Tell me, just one last time, I probably asked before. Your brother is at home?

Yes Dad.

Ok, just one more time and then I'll be quiet.  Where is your brother today?

Ummmm - You want a cup of tea Dad??

My brother and law came to visit one day and he said, ‘what would happen if you didn’t answer him when he asked for the 3^rd time?’  I had to say, I’d never thought of that.  I presume he’d just keep asking, or he’d ask another question.

I do know, though not as well as my mother knows, that living with constant, repetitious questions is very, very draining.  We short term visitors, which is how I’d label Glenn and myself, because we only turned up at home for a little while every couple of days, offered Mum a bit of a reprieve. 

We also became very good at rephrasing the same reply.  Why?  Well, it got darned boring saying the same response over and over again.  And I thought that maybe, rephrased, the answer may resonate somewhere in his mind and stick. 

But, as I’ve said before, with no resident expert offering salient advice, I have no idea if anything we were doing was right.

The only thing we knew for sure was he’s our Dad and regardless of any ups and downs we may have had, we love him heaps and we don’t think he deserves this bloody disease.

I haven't seen your brother today, have you?

Dad, you already asked me that question.

Did I?  What was your answer to my question then.



The brother in question.