Jeg har tænkt over noget. Jeg vil slå min far ihjel. Jeg ringede til min søster.
I've been doing some thinking. I'm going to kill my dad. I called my sister.
"Hør her, Jeg har tænkt over noget. Jeg vil slå far ihjel. Jeg vil tage ham med til Oregon, finde noget heroin, og give ham det."
"Listen, I've been doing some thinking. I'm going to kill Dad. I'm going to take him to Oregon, find some heroin, and give it to him."
Min far har frontotemporal demens, også kaldet FTD. Det er en forvirrende sygdom som rammer folk i 50'er eller 60'erne. Det kan ændre en persons personlighed fuldstændigt, gøre dem paranoide og endda voldelige. Min far har været syg i et årti, men for tre år siden blev han rigtigt syg, og vi var nødt til at flytte ham ud af hans hus - det hus jeg voksede op i, det hus han byggede med sine egne hænder. Min flotte, seje far med falset sangstemmen var nødt til at flytte på plejehjem med døgnpleje da han var bare 65 år.
My dad has frontotemporal lobe dementia, or FTD. It's a confusing disease that hits people in their 50s or 60s. It can completely change someone's personality, making them paranoid and even violent. My dad's been sick for a decade, but three years ago he got really sick, and we had to move him out of his house -- the house that I grew up in, the house that he built with his own hands. My strapping, cool dad with the falsetto singing voice had to move into a facility for round-the-clock care when he was just 65.
Min mor, mine søstre og jeg lavede den fejl, at flytte ham til et almindeligt plejehjem. Der var meget flot, der var plystæpper, kunsttimer om eftermiddagen og en hund som hed Diane. Men så modtog jeg et opkald,
At first my mom and sisters and I made the mistake of putting him in a regular nursing home. It was really pretty; it had plush carpet and afternoon art classes and a dog named Diane. But then I got a phone call.
"Frk. Malone, vi har arresteret Deres far."
"Ms. Malone, we've arrested your father."
"Hvad?"
"What?"
"Altså, han truede alle med bestik. Så rev han gardinerne ned fra væggen, og så prøvede han at smide planter ud af vinduet. Og så, altså, han trak alle de gamle damer ud af kørestolene."
"Well, he threatened everybody with cutlery. And then he yanked the curtains off the wall, and then he tried to throw plants out the window. And then, well, he pulled all the old ladies out of their wheelchairs."
"Alle de gamle damer?"
"All the old ladies?"
[Latter]
(Laughter)
"Sikke en cowboy."
"What a cowboy."
[Latter]
(Laughter)
Efter at han blev smidt ud derfra, smed vi ham rundt mellem flere offentlige institutioner før vi fandt et behandlingscenter for folk med demens. I starten kunne han, godt lide det, men hans helbred blev over tid dårligere og en dag kom jeg ind og fandt ham foroverbøjet på gulvet, iført en heldragt - den slagt dragter med lynlås i ryggen. Jeg kiggede på ham i omkring en time, mens han hev i den, og prøvede at få den af. Meningen er at den skal være praktisk, men jeg synes at det lignede en spændetrøje. Og så løb jeg. Jeg efterlod ham der. Jeg sad i min bil - hans gamle bil - foroverbøjet, det her dybe, gutturale skrig kom fra min maves dyb. Jeg kunne bare ikke tro, at min far, min ungdoms Adonis, min virkelig kære ven, skulle mene at den måde at leve på, skulle være værd at leve.
After he got kicked out of there, we bounced him between a bunch of state-run facilities before finding a treatment center specifically for people with dementia. At first, he kind of liked it, but over time his health declined, and one day I walked in and found him sitting hunched over on the ground wearing a onesie -- those kinds of outfits that zip in the back. I watched him for about an hour as he yanked at it, trying to find a way out of this thing. And it's supposed to be practical, but to me it looked like a straightjacket. And so I ran out. I left him there. I sat in my truck -- his old truck -- hunched over, this really deep guttural cry coming out of the pit of my belly. I just couldn't believe that my father, the Adonis of my youth, my really dear friend, would think that this kind of life was worth living anymore.
Vi er programmeret til at prioritere produktivitet. Så når en person - i dette tilfælde, en Adonis - ikke længere er produktiv, på den måde vi forventer af ham, den måde han selv forventer, hvilken værdi har det liv så tilbage? Den dag i bilen, var det eneste jeg tænkte på, at min far blev tortureret og hans krop var torturens beholder. Jeg må få ham ud af den krop. Jeg må få ham ud fra den krop, jeg vil slå min far ihjel.
We're programmed to prioritize productivity. So when a person -- an Adonis in this case -- is no longer productive in the way we expect him to be, the way that he expects himself to be, what value does that life have left? That day in the truck, all I could imagine was that my dad was being tortured and his body was the vessel of that torture. I've got to get him out of that body. I've got to get him out of that body; I'm going to kill Dad.
Jeg ringer til min søster.
I call my sister.
"Beth," sagde hun. "Du vil ikke leve resten af dit liv med tanken om at du slog din far ihjel. Og jeg tror at du vil blive anholdt, da han ikke kan billige det. Og du ved ikke engang hvordan man køber heroin."
"Beth," she said. "You don't want to live the rest of your life knowing that you killed your father. And you'd be arrested I think, because he can't condone it. And you don't even know how to buy heroin."
[Latter]
(Laughter)
Hun har ret.
It's true, I don't.
[Latter] Sandheden er, at vi taler meget om hans død. Hvornår sker det? Hvordan vil det være? Jeg ville ønske, at vi havde talt om døden da vi alle var raske. Hvordan ser min bedste død ud? Hvordan ser din bedste død ud? Men min familie vidste ikke hvordan. Og min søster havde ret. Jeg skal ikke slå min far ihjel med heroin men jeg er nødt at få ham ud af den krop.
(Laughter) The truth is we talk about his death a lot. When will it happen? What will it be like? But I wish that we would have talked about death when we were all healthy. What does my best death look like? What does your best death look like? But my family didn't know to do that. And my sister was right. I shouldn't murder Dad with heroin, but I've got to get him out of that body.
Jeg besøgte en clairvoyant. Og så en præst, og så en støttegruppe, og de sagde alle det samme, nogle folk holder fast, når de er bekymrede for deres nærmeste. Fortæl dem at du er i sikkerhed, og at det er okay at give slip.
So I went to a psychic. And then a priest, and then a support group, and they all said the same thing: sometimes people hang on when they're worried about loved ones. Just tell them you're safe, and it's OK to go when you're ready.
Jeg tog hen til min far. Han sad foroverbøjet på gulvet iført heldragten. Han stirrede forbi mig, og så nærmest bare på gulvet. Jeg gav ham en ingefærøl og begyndte bare at snakke, ikke om noget særligt, Men som jeg snakkede, nyste ham på grund af ingefærøllen. Og det nys - gav et ryk i ham, og gav ham en lille gnist af livet tilbage. Han fortsatte med at drikke, nyse og gnistre, om og om igen indtil det stoppede. Og jeg hørte, "Hehehehe, hehehehe ... det her er så fantastisk. Det her er så fantastisk."
So I went to see Dad. I found him hunched over on the ground in the onesie. He was staring past me and just kind of looking at the ground. I gave him a ginger ale and just started talking about nothing in particular, but as I was talking, he sneezed from the ginger ale. And the sneeze -- it jerked his body upright, sparking him back to life a little bit. And he just kept drinking and sneezing and sparking, over and over and over again until it stopped. And I heard, "Heheheheheh, heheheheheh ... this is so fabulous. This is so fabulous."
Hans øjne var åbne og han så på mig, og jeg sagde, "Hej far!" Og han sagde, "Hejsa Beth." Jeg åbnede munden for at fortælle ham: "Far, hvis du har lyst til at dø, kan du godt dø. Vi er allesammen okay." Men da jeg åbnede munden, Kunne jeg kun sige, "Far! Jeg savner dig." Og så sagde han, "Jamen, jeg savner også dig." Så faldt jeg bare sammen fordi jeg er et stort rod.
His eyes were open and he was looking at me, and I said, "Hi, Dad!" and he said, "Hiya, Beth." And I opened my mouth to tell him, right? "Dad, if you want to die, you can die. We're all OK." But as I opened my mouth to tell him, all I could say was, "Dad! I miss you." And then he said, "Well, I miss you, too." And then I just fell over because I'm just a mess.
Jeg faldt sammen og sad der med ham fordi, for første gang i lang tid, virkede han nogenlunde okay. Og jeg tænkte på hans hænder, og var så taknemmelig for at hans sjæl stadig var i kroppen. Og i det øjeblik indså jeg, at jeg ikke er ansvarlig for denne person. Jeg er ikke hans læge, Jeg er ikke hans mor, Jeg er helt sikkert ikke hans Gud, og måske er den bedste måde, at hjælpe ham og mig på, at indtage vores roller som far og datter.
So I fell over and I sat there with him because for the first time in a long time he seemed kind of OK. And I memorized his hands, feeling so grateful that his spirit was still attached to his body. And in that moment I realized I'm not responsible for this person. I'm not his doctor, I'm not his mother, I'm certainly not his God, and maybe the best way to help him and me is to resume our roles as father and daughter.
Så sad vi bare der, stille og roligt, som vi altid har gjort. Ingen var produktive. Vi er begge stadig stærke.
And so we just sat there, calm and quiet like we've always done. Nobody was productive. Both of us are still strong.
"Okay far, jeg går nu, men vi ses i morgen."
"OK, Dad. I'm going to go, but I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay." sagde han. "Hey, det her er en ret fin landejendom."
"OK," he said. "Hey, this is a pretty nice hacienda."
Tak.
Thank you.
[Applaus]
(Applause)