Alzheimer's Cannot Corrupt the Heart: A Secret Service Agent Son's Thoughts

On a cloudless sunny day in Jacksonville, FL, with the hint of the smell of a dusty little league parking lot hanging in the air, faces of anxious adults and wide-eyed excited children were pressed against the warm, slightly rusty chain-link fence waiting to catch a glimpse, and possibly even shake hands with the President of the United States and the First Lady as well as their daughter. 

And as a young boy of 5 or 6, I joined the crowd lining the fence and watched my dad steadily descend the stairs of President Carter’s helicopter, Marine One, with dark sunglasses, a powerful body and a demeanor rivaling that of a lion protecting his pride.

At that moment in my young life, I could not have imagined that anything in this world could take him down.

As a United States Secret Service agent, my dad served as the first line of defense assigned to protect Presidents Ford, Carter and Reagan, Vice Presidents Agnew and Humphrey as well as foreign heads of state such as Anwar Sadat, President of Egypt during the 1970’s and King Hussein of Jordan.

And, like all law enforcement officers, he carried a badge representing his credentials and symbolizing his authority.  But as a Secret Service agent, his badge was a silver star reminiscent of the badge you see the Marshall carry in old Hollywood westerns.

My dad possessed the traits often associated with individuals responsible for protecting the lives of others:   the mental toughness of a professional athlete, a chess champion’s focus, an imposing physical presence, a slight aggressiveness in his posture, an awareness of his surroundings like that of a hall of fame NFL quarterback and a glare that would intimidate Clint Eastwood or John Wayne.

The street wise wits, mental agility and steel trap memory he relied on to keep world leaders safe radiated from him in the same way I imagine his silver star badge radiated a shiny luster the day he first carried it in his hands as a United States Secret Service agent. 

On that cloudless, sunny day in Jacksonville, I was right.  Nothing in this world could take down the vigilant, powerful man I saw descending the steps of President Carter’s helicopter.

What took down my dad (or so I mistakenly thought) came from within his own body—Alzheimer’s disease.

I remember the exact night in Atlanta that my dad’s Alzheimer’s became a reality for me (unfortunately, Alzheimer’s had been a reality for my dad and his wife Laura for some time before that night). 

It was the first moment that I realized the shiny luster of his reliable, faultless memory and razor sharp mental agility had faded like the shiny luster of his silver star badge after enduring 20 years of service to his country.

That particular night was a cool, mildly humid Saturday evening around 8pm and our family, including in-laws and children, was eating dinner in a comfortable, dimly lit, quiet corner of a well-known seafood restaurant in Atlanta.  Many of us had not enjoyed each other’s company for some time so the table chatter was light-hearted and full of conversations about how everyone was doing and what we have all been up to. 

We had the usual disagreements too.  After all, in-laws are always right.  Aren’t they?

But somehow, out of convenience or denial, we had ignored and avoided the topic of my dad’s Alzheimer’s disease.

Anyway, laughter as well as the mouth-watering scent of perfectly cooked scallops and fish and sides of garlic mashed potatoes and grilled, buttered asparagus filled the air.

My dad, with his trimmed, cotton white beard, sat across the table from me and laughed with his shiny, toothy smile that gave no indication that there was a chink in his impenetrable mental armor.

And then, in the middle of enjoying our meal and sharing stories of the past, my dad excused himself to use the restroom.  15 minutes after leaving, he had yet to return.  Something in this son’s gut just didn’t feel quite right.

Knowing that Alzheimer’s was creeping in to my dad’s mind, I rose from my seat, turned back towards the main dining room, proceeded to weave my way through numerous dining tables, dodge the ant-like flurry of waiters and make my way towards the back of the restaurant where the restrooms were located. 

A few moments later, my heart sank like a lead weight in water when I found my dad wandering around the restaurant unable to find his way back to our table.  I called out “dad, over here,” walked over to him, gently wrapped the fingers of my right hand around his left elbow and guided him back to our table.

Moments after we sat down, my head fell between my shoulders and came to rest on my chest.  I instantly broke down crying. 

Well, it was more like a slow slob.  A tsunami of emotion had overtaken me.  It was like someone had stolen the dad I grew up with and replaced him with a new, incomprehensible version of a dad. 

That night, be seemed to become someone who needed to be protected rather than someone who spent a career vigilantly protecting the lives of others.

Since that perception altering night in Atlanta, I have watched Alzheimer’s creep into my dad’s mind like a slowly rising tide reclaiming the shore line and filling the previously empty inlets, waterways and back-channels. Unfortunately, this tide will never recede.

As a United States Secret Service agent, my dad had a heightened sense of everything.

Aggressiveness.  Intensity.  Drive.  Focus.  Awareness of potential threats.  Body language of others. 

So much so that walking around in public as a young boy with my dad made me feel like the President of the United States—I felt like no one could harm me and if they tried, they would truly be sorry.

The interesting days were when I had to remind my dad that I was just his son and not the President.  Thoughts like this didn’t matter to him.   In the eyes of my dad, I was as important as the President.

Heck, no one even drove too fast on our street for fear my dad would make a “social” call.

I began to feel angry, regretful of time not spent together and disappointed that I did not say “I love you” when it was easy to say.  Most of all, as a father of three wonderful daughters, my heart weighed heavy knowing that my dad would never remember his three granddaughters.

My perspective changed, however, during one of my dad’s first visit to our home after that night in Atlanta—the night I realized Alzheimer’s had taken a firm, unyielding hold on my dad.

Now, I had heard the truly sad, frustrating stories of Alzheimer’s sufferers becoming scared, even angry at others due to momentary or longer term lapses in memory—the lapses in memory that make an Alzheimer’s sufferer unfamiliar with where they are or who they are with.

But during this particular visit by my dad and his wife Laura, I experienced something quite the contrary and I came to understand how to view my dad’s condition in a positive way.

For some reason, whether it was God, the unique way Alzheimer’s affected my father or his spirit to overcome and adapt (another useful trait for a Secret Service agent), my dad had become a person who lived each day (and still does) in the moment and in a state of peace, happiness and even serenity.

The ability to truly live in the moment (something I feel many of us regretfully miss throughout our lives) has made my dad a grandfather that Hollywood casting could not conjure up.  But, if I had to pick a character from central casting, I imagine he would be Kris Kringle from Miracle on 34th Street—a man with a  jolly demeanor, unwavering smile and an irrepressible, exuberant joy in the company of others. 

He has all of Kris Kringle’s traits except for the fact that he is still in impeccable physical condition and drives a Mazda and not a sleigh.

Back to the visit. 

His new personality shined like his silver star badge shined the first day he carried it as a Secret Service agent.  My daughters were drawn to him (and still are) like a magnet and pure joy, the kind of joy that only children experience, infused their bodies and lit up their faces like Times Square during Christmas when they spent time with him.

This is the experience I did not expect and that contradicted all the stories I had heard and still sometimes fear. 

This is the experience that helped me realize that there were two perspectives I could take. 

The first perspective?  Feeling sorry for myself (yes, I know this is selfish) and dwelling on the fact that my dad would never be the same person I saw steadily descending the stairs of President Carter’s helicopter on that cloudless sunny day in Jacksonville, FL. 

The second perspective?  Understanding the impact that my children can have on my dad each moment they spend with him and the impact my “new” dad could have on my children. 

Each moment my dad sees my daughters smile, laugh or giggle, and each time he feels their warm, loving arms around him, I know, and I mean I truly know that his heart is filled with a joy that Alzheimer’s can’t take away.  I know he will live each day happier and I know he will live a fuller life because of his time with my daughters.

And, each moment my dad spends with his granddaughters, I know that they are taking away deeply rooted, positive memories that will shape their heart, their soul and their mind.

Each time he visits, each time I see him play with my daughters, the first cup of coffee in the morning tastes better than it ever has.

Now, I know that at some point my dad could become one of the Alzheimer’s horror stories. 

But Alzheimer’s has not and will not win.

Alzheimer’s can never take away the moments of heart-felt joy my dad experiences with his granddaughters and it can never ever take away the memories my girls have of their moments with him.  These are memories that are forever woven into all of their hearts.

Simply put, Alzheimer’s cannot corrupt the heart.

One day my dad will pass.  It’s inevitable. 

I do know that he will pass with a full, joyous heart and his memories and spirit will live on in my children and me.

And I also know that his Secret Service badge, his silver star, will always shine as it did the first day he carried it as a United States Secret Service agent.