The notion of trust wandered through my mind a lot as I was writing this story. My dad trusted the person who betrayed him, but as it turned out, there was very little that was trustworthy about that person. I admit that I’m too trusting. My dad was nothing like me in that regard; he was very cautious trusting others. But, as far as the person who betrayed him was concerned, Alzheimer’s took care of that little problem, and subsequently my dad’s legacy was torn to shreds.
Excerpt from A Life Well Stolen
Preface continued
Nothing could have been done to stop his sickness, but my siblings and I did not sit idly by while everything was being stolen from him. When we discovered the appalling truth of what had happened, we acted instinctively to aid our dad. He could no longer remember who we were, but we remembered who he was and what he had been to us and we would not allow him to become victimized without a fight. We owed him that, but that wasn’t why we went to battle for him. He was our dad, but he was no longer the man who had raised us. His mind ravaged by Alzheimer’s, he could no longer defend himself. We were all that he had.
So we hired lawyers and spent our money. We let ourselves be deposed. We went to court. We listened and we cringed when the other side called us greedy children and accused us of not loving our dad, accused us of initiating a frivolous lawsuit because we were only interested in his money, as if we were the ones who had stolen it. Don't worry what they say, we had to tell ourselves. We're protecting our father. It's what anyone would do. So we ignored it all as best we could and fought on even as the other side made us out to be the criminals and praised the person who had actually taken advantage of our dad, a man with advanced Alzheimer's who was not even able to understand what was happening to him.
We fought for our dad to the best of our ability, for months, for years, but in the end it wasn't enough. We could not completely reclaim that which had been taken from him. We just had no idea how bloody a battle it would be. A predator had sunk its teeth into our dad’s life and it was unwilling to let go. It was a tug of war to the bitter end. We were unwilling to allow it to take our dad, it would not release its hold, and in the end all that was left were pieces of our dad’s life.
Those pieces were better than nothing and we all knew that. But they came at great cost, both emotionally and financially, and it was not how my dad had intended his legacy, to be torn apart and ripped to shreds.
And it was all because of misplaced trust.
Unlike my dad, as my wife would tell you, I'm too trusting. I'm not saying I'm naïve. I know there are people out there biding their time, watching and waiting for a sign of weakness so that they can attack. I know also that there are opportunists who may not always be on the prowl or even consider the possibility until one presents itself to them. I am not naïve, but neither is it easy for me to accept malefactors within my own circle of friends and family. If that is a weakness, then I am guilty; I have always been too trusting in others.
My dad did not have that same failing; he was always skeptical about the motives of others. That strength served him well his entire life, but in the end it was not sufficient to protect him. He was always vigilant of those outside, and careful of those around him, but still he didn't give sufficient credibility to the possibility that he would be betrayed. I guess it is just too difficult a thing to dissuade yourself from believing in those who are your supposed allies, the ones you should be able to rely on not defend against.
Alzheimer’s stole my dad’s memories and his cognitive abilities and in the end it was what killed him. That I can accept, however reluctantly. But someone he trusted robbed him of everything he had worked for and on one day selfishly betrayed him and completely negated everything he had accomplished in his long life. That is what I can't accept. That is what makes me the angriest, that boils my blood and makes me want to lash out at someone or something. I feel that same anger at times when I see one of my children being mistreated by another. Yet with my children I am able to intercede and guard them from harm. With my dad, however, I could not intervene, and I realize now that even if I had known what was transpiring at the time it was happening, there still would have been nothing I could have done to stop it. And that, after my anger has run its course, leaves me feeling discouraged, frustrated, and completely powerless.
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