Early on my in my father’s journey with Alzheimer’s disease, he developed an obsession with finding aluminum pop and beer cans. He would spend hours every day out walking around the neighbourhood looking for aluminum cans. This meant digging through garbage bins, walking along ditches and checking out the backs of pick-up trucks. It was amazing how good he got at spotting cans in the ditches while cruising along the highway at almost 100km.
All of us in the family had to learn to look at this fetish with “different eyeglasses.” It was part of his dementia journey and the more we tried to stop this behaviour, the more determined and sneakier he got at getting out of the house to go collecting.
I once watched my dad sort and organize his cans. Paps was always the sort of guy who liked recording lists of trivia and putting order into chaos. He did this with his beloved aluminum cans too. He would sort them according to colour: red Coca Cola cans, green 7UP cans, orange Orange Crush cans, blue Labbatts cans… and then put them onto the cardboard trays he would pick up from the bottle recycling place in our neighbourhood. The people at the recycling shop loved to see my dad and mom drive up on their bi-weekly drop off. “Hi John,” they would say, “How many flats do you have for us today?” They never had to count his cans because they were so well organized. Paps took great pleasure in pocketing his loot… anywhere from $30 to $60 depending on the season.
Paps was always a hard worker and took his role as breadwinner in the family very seriously. Perhaps in his mind, his new role as aluminum can recycler during his retirement years was yet another way to be a provider. I’ve come to believe this was the case and I love him for his steadfastness and commitment.
Although my mother didn’t like the idea of her husband snooping through other people’s garbage, she made the choice to accept this unfortunate compulsion and even went with my father to the various provincial parks in the Kananaskis area of Alberta so he could pursue his passion.
This fetish for collecting aluminum cans presented a challenge for us when we took my father on his last camping trip with the whole family. We were obviously concerned the he might get lost in a campground which was not familiar to him, and we were worried that our fellow campers would not appreciate this old fellow walking on to their campsite and helping himself to whatever cans he could find. So my youngest sister cooked up a plan.
She made about 30 copies of a poster which had a picture of my father and an explanation of his love for aluminum cans which went something like this:
“Hello my name is John Bouwman. I have Alzheimer’s disease and I am camping with my family at this park. I love aluminum pop and beer cans. You may see me come to your campsite and ask for them. My hearing is not good and I may not be able to understand what you say to me. If I become a nuisance, please come talk to my family who are camped at site _______.”
We were given permission to put these poster up on the inside of the outhouse doors and on the bulletin board at the park entrance. I must admit that I felt embarrassed about this, but I hoped it would work. Coping with Alzheimer’s disease will certainly bring out the creativity in caregivers and family members!
We also assigned the grandchildren to take turns in following their Opa when he went on his can collecting jaunts to make sure the he wouldn’t get lost.
My father had the time of his life that camping trip! He couldn’t believe so many people knew his name!
And better yet, they were waiting for him to come by to pick up the cans. “Here John, we’ve collected six more for you!” He made quite a haul during the time we were there (which by the way, we donated back to the campground staff before leaving). There were only a couple people during that week who stopped by our site to let us know they didn’t appreciate the fact that we had taken our father camping with us. There were hundreds more who so graciously supported our efforts.
I don’t think Paps ever figured out that the posters were the cause of his joy. He must have seen them when he went to the outhouse himself, but his illness had progressed to the point where he couldn’t read anymore and I guess couldn’t even recognize his own picture.
A thought just occurred to me. Perhaps someone reading this story right now was also camping at Harold Park with us that year. An perhaps you may remember giving cans to this old gentleman who showed such delight when you handed over the cans. If you are one of these people, thank you for being so supportive. During the tough journey of dementia, it is wonderful to see and experience the goodness of people who care and want to help.