Snapshots of Dementia: How Firm Thy Friendship

Posted by Marti on September 16, 2023 in Dementia | 4 comments

by Andrew Pieper

The silver sousaphone shone like a mirror in the Saturday afternoon sun as the band member high-stepped out of formation to dot the i with an exaggerated bow in the iconic Script Ohio, one of college football’s greatest traditions. The 100,000-plus fans in attendance roared their approval, and my dad smiled, enjoying once again the grand spectacle that is Ohio State football.  

Arriving in Ohio Friday afternoon, we drove an hour north of Columbus to visit the famous Ohio State Reformatory, which not only had served as a real prison until 1990 but also as the filming location for The Shawshank Redemption among other Hollywood movies. The chairlift hummed as it carried me—along with my dad in his wheelchair—up the side of the stairs.  

The wheelchair was a new addition to our travels. My dad is still able to walk with a walker, but he does so slowly and often with great pain. We decided to borrow a wheelchair for this trip, which made the whole experience much easier for both of us.  

Once inside, I purchased tickets for a guided tour. These tours are public and quite popular, often with up to forty people in attendance. But once our guide saw my dad in his wheelchair, he instructed the front desk to close the tour to make it easier for us to take the elevators up and down inside the prison. For the next ninety minutes, we had a private tour of every level, our guide sharing equal amounts of Shawshank history and that of the prison itself.  

After returning to Columbus and checking into our hotel, I made sure to connect my dad’s iPad to the Wi-Fi so he could play his online golf game. Regular routine has become an important part of his life, and the golf game is a big part of that routine. In fact, when I first asked him if he would like to go to another Buckeyes game, the first thing he asked was, “Will I be able to play my golf game?” Once he finished that day’s round, I drove him over to the Ohio State campus to watch the band rehearse. I could tell he was tired, but he seemed to enjoy the experience, tapping his hand in time with the beat.  

The following day, we arrived on campus three hours prior to kickoff. We were fortunate enough to grab one of the last parking spaces before the handicap lot was completely full. I wheeled him inside St. John Arena, where the band holds its skull session prior to every home game—a pep rally where the band plays a few songs, the football team is present, and the coach gives a speech before everyone heads to the stadium.  

The excitement built as, seated only a few dozen feet from the band and the team, we enjoyed the performance of several Ohio State classics, including “Hang on Sloopy,” with everyone, including my dad, joining to form the letters “O-H-I-O.” Rather than fighting our way through the tens of thousands of people walking toward the stadium as we had the previous year, we were able to board a handicap shuttle that dropped us right outside the gate. 

Once inside, we attempted to make our way to our seats. I say “attempted” because we somehow ended up on the side of the stadium adjacent to the area where the band members were preparing to make their entrance down the ramp. This turned out to be a pleasant detour, as it gave us the opportunity to meet a few of them and explain how we had made the 600-mile drive from South Carolina to see them.  

Yes, we were there to watch a football game, but for my dad, who played trumpet professionally for much of his life, the football was a bonus. For him, it’s still all about the music. This was again the date of the TDBITL Reunion, which meant rather than seeing the normal 300-plus musicians, we watched more than 1,000 current and former band members march in military-like formation down the ramp and onto the field before we made our way to our seats.  

Cheering, we watched as the Buckeyes had little trouble taking a 28-7 lead before the combined bands again lined up on the sides of the field for the halftime show, performing four simultaneous Script Ohios on each side of the field. In addition to the already-difficult task of playing each song from memory, their precision once again astounded me. But this year, the wonder of it all was somehow lost on my dad.  

As he continues to fight the slowly losing battle that is dementia, Dad’s memory is not the only thing that gives him trouble. Processing what is going on, where he is, and what he is doing has become a daily struggle, which was not the case even one year ago when we made this trip. For him, most activities today are simply “nice” or “I’d like that.” Even an incredible event such as this one, which took weeks of planning and preparation, didn’t seem to register as much more special than going to lunch at Wendy’s. I made an extra effort to take as many pictures and videos as possible because deep inside, I knew the truth: This would be the last time he and I would spend time together in The Shoe.  

In many ways, watching my dad go through dementia is the opposite of watching my nephews grow up. Young children develop and learn new things every day. My dad is “undeveloping,” forgetting things he knows and has learned. My mom and I work hard to make him as comfortable as possible, trying to give him the highest quality of life we can, but that’s a moving target. There is so much still unknown about dementia; it’s not as if you can Google “What to expect in Week X after a dementia diagnosis.” His condition could stay the same for years or drastically change in a matter of days.  

And that’s exactly how God—about whom my dad taught me from my earliest days—calls us to follow Him. He doesn’t unroll the plan so we can see the entire picture. Instead, our walk of faith comes day by day and step by step.  

Dad has guided our entire family through so many years and trials, and now we are guiding him through the simplest tasks, ones most people don’t think twice about. I don’t have to think twice, though, about who he is: one of the greatest men I have ever known. No matter what he remembers—or doesn’t remember—about our trip, I’m glad we had the opportunity to experience it together one last time.  

There on the field, as the game clock ticked down to zero, the entire team gathered to face the band for the singing of the alma mater, “Carmen Ohio.” As I sat beside the fading man I still consider my best friend, the song’s concluding phrases made a fitting metaphor for our journey to Columbus and beyond:   

Summer’s heat or winter’s cold 

The seasons pass, the years will roll 

Time and change will surely show 

 How firm thy friendship. . . O-HI-O.