Last Dance

It was January 31, 2011. This was a special day because it was my dad’s 74th birthday. My daughter and I pulled up in front of the nursing home. It was a cold brisk winter day, but Lake Crossing was warm and inviting with its beautiful trees and white wooden rocking chairs on the front porch. As we walked inside, everybody was busily getting ready for the afternoon’s festivities as today they would be celebrating all of the birthdays for the month of January.



We found my dad in his room sitting on his bed dressed nicely in dress slacks and a polo shirt. I took a moment to reflect on how the Alzheimer’s had aged him, yet it had made him child like. He looked up and said, “Hey, look who’s here!” I was blessed that he still recognized my daughter and me.

Lady J ran to his arms and they shared a bear hug. “Happy Birthday, Grandpa!” she exclaimed. I followed with a hug of my own. “Look dad, I brought your dancing shoes,” I said. He looked at them puzzled, but put them on. Lady J took him by the hand and led him gently to the recreation room where the other residents and staff were gathered for the birthday celebration.


A wide circle had been cleared in the middle of the room. I led my dad to the center of all the people watching. I tenderly placed his left hand at my waist, and placed my left hand upon his shoulder, and then I took his right hand in mine. The CD I had chosen began to play. The song was “Lollipop, Lollipop” and the tempo was strong yet moderate. At first my dad looked at me and said, “I don’t know what to do, “so I started to lead.

I started with two side steps, then a triple step back. Within moments there was a sparkle in my dad’s eyes and he began to lead. There were spins, turns, and slides. He didn’t miss a beat, but the best part was the smile on his face. When the song finished we did a big spin out for a grand finale and everyone clapped and cheered.


Breathless, I hugged my dad. Lady J jumped up and down with joy from watching the dance with her mom and her grandpa. After the celebration, she got to dance with her grandpa in his room. The sparkle remained in his eyes even though he said little the rest of the day. That was the last time I danced with my dad. He passed away on April 10, 2011, but the memory of that day will live with me forever.

Firelily, The Bipolar Fairy

Once upon a time there was a beautiful fairy named Firelily. She had a very hard time making friends. The other fairies would fly away when they saw her flying into the meadow. Now she wasn’t a bad fairy. You see, Firelily had Bipolar Disorder. Some days she would get so excited that she would talk so fast that no one else could get a word in. Even her wings would flap excitedly. Sometimes they would flap so fast they would flap in the other fairies faces. This annoyed the other fairies. She flew over to the fairies so she could sit by them on the daisies and they flew away. Of course she chased them. She thought it was a game! Pretty soon it was no longer a game to her and she got very, very angry!! Her face got bright red, her wings got very stiff and she started to scream, “NOBODY LISTENS TO ME!” Pretty soon she started to kick and there was dandelion fluff everywhere! When she started to throw the acorns, all the fairies and the animals hid in fear. Eventually Firelily crumpled in a heap, sobbing until she fell asleep.

The guardian fairy, Flutterjewel, came and sang her a soothing song and reminded her that she is loved. The next day Firelily did not go to the meadow, but the guardian did. She called a special gathering of all of the fairies. She told them about Bipolar Disorder and told them that Firelily’s brain makes her feel emotions stronger than most fairies. Instead of feeling sad, she sometimes feels deep sorrow. Instead of feeling happy, she sometimes feels on top of the world. Instead of feeling scared, she sometimes feels terror. Instead of feeling angry, she sometimes feels rage. Instead of feeling friendship, she sometimes feels love. The guardian also explained that Firelily takes medicine to help her brain balance those chemicals to help her with her emotions.

Now that the fairies knew that Firelily could not help being the way she was they got together and thought of ways to help Firelily. One fairy suggested they could all be kind to Firelily. One fairy suggested they could all say hello to her whenever they saw her. One fairy said it probably wasn’t nice to move away from her when she wanted to sit next them. Another fairy said it would be good to take time to actually listen to what she is saying, even though sometimes she is hard to understand. It would take patience but it was worth a try.

The following day Firelily was back in the meadow. She acted as though nothing had happened. It was like she didn’t even remember her anger from the other day. She was back to her excited self with her wings flapping with each word she said. But something was different. Firelily noticed a fairy said hello to her, then another, then another. First she got really, really excited! Her wings were flapping so fast everyone thought the daisy petals were going to fly away in the breeze! Then she tried to sit down next to two of the fairies, and they actually stayed with her, one even shared her sunflower cookie, her favorite!! Pretty soon Firelily’s wings calmed down as she began to talk with the fairies and they began to giggle about the squirrels and the bunnies playing in the meadow. The fairies soon learned that Firelily was a lot like them, very loving, very funny, and sometimes angry, but always a fairy friend.

Schizophrenia - A First Hand Account

People have asked me about my sister. I decided the best thing would be to post in her own words. This writing was published in Choice Voice at Augusta College in 1994.

Schizophrenia - by Gina Van Duzee

I am hoping for my boyfriend to come back. The girls at work understand. They know that my condition makes roller coaster rides out of work.

As we sit in our chairs at a meeting, I see his face in front of me. I hear laughing, and I believe the figure is he.

Later, I am cutting a customer's hair, and all of a sudden, I feel anger inside me. There is so much anger I grit my teeth. It feels like a possession by some evil being. I move from side to side of the chair, fighting this being. My customer stares at me and is uncertain what is going on. I get through the haircut, and I sit down in the office. I light a cigarette and try to relax.

Schizophrenia is a nightmare, populated by the overwhelmingly powerful beings from the dark, who control and manipulate a helpless person with their laughs, snide remarks, and allusions. Of course, these beings aren't real. They come from the inside, attacking the subconscious, paralyzing with fear, tempting to suicide.

It's been a long stressful day. I undress, put my clothes in the hamper, jump into the shower, and slip on a night shirt. I lay my head down on the pillow, ready to sleep, and then, they start.

"Gina doesn't know what's going on!" An evil laugh. "Let's get her tomorrow." I can hear the voices loud and clear. Curious as it may seem, the voices are comforting because I hear them so often.

The next day, I hear footsteps behind me as I'm walking down the hallway of the mall. I turn around and look behind me. There is nothing there. My breathing becomes faster and frantic. I hear someone calling my name: "Gina." I feel the invisible stalker around me. I look from left to right: nothing.

Like so many times before, I realize that what I am hearing is coming from within. I scream and cry out of anguish and fall to my knees, crying.

Sometimes I can recognize these voices: these are from co-workers, so-called friends, people I trust. It makes it easy to distrust.

I feel really depressed. A man whom I admire is not willing to talk to me or touch me. I am lonely, yet not alone in this city. My parents are here, but there is no one my age to talk to. So I talk on the phone to my sister, who lives in Las Vegas, but I can't think straight. My sentences aren't clear, and I struggle with simple words. I am easily startled, and waves of paranoia rush through me. I am frantic and on the edge of suicide. She calms me down for an hour or two. Then, I have to go to work. I can't find my keys. I sit on the hassock, distressed.

I call work to ask if someone could pick me up. The manager sarcastically remarks, " Call 911." I am so desperate that I do call but do not speak very well. They find me at the house, sitting on the hassock. My legs shake as I walk to the ambulance.

Flashes of light rush past me, and I think I hear the paramedic say that I am dead and laugh.

The police come an take me to Georgia Regional. I scream, "You're not going to take me to a mental hospital!" As we walk to the door, I calm down. I ask for a light for my cigarette. The policeman stops periodically for me to smoke. Then I am locked up, caged in. I can only stare at the locked doors and watch television while sitting on a hard metal bench. For two weeks, I am trapped.

But the voices aren't always threatening. Sometimes they can be just fleeting fragments of sentences: "The cow is in the house." They can be disconnected gibberish: "This they when it's here." Sometimes the voices can be friendly. For example, I am walking down the hallway at the hospital. I have just been admitted. A voice asks me, "Gina, are you ok?" I stop and ask if someone said something, but everyone says no. Nevertheless, I feel more secure.

Before I went to the hospital, I did realize that I had a problem. The voices were so normal to me, that I believed it happened to everyone. I believed that I would have to suffer from these delusions for the rest of my life.

This disability can be treated with medication. I am on Navane, among other complementary medications. Other successful medications are Rispendal and Clozaril. With daily doses of medication, this disease can be controlled to a slow drawl. If medication is stopped, it happens again.

NOTE: Since this writing even more medications have been successful in the treatment of schizophrenia and other disorders related to mental illness. The key is to not suffer in silence. If you or someone you know is affected by mental illness, please reach out and get help.

Nuclear Disaster

Recently we have had a horrific disaster across the Pacific in Japan. There has been a huge earthquake and tsunami creating massive destruction. Included in that destruction is damage to two nuclear plants. As I have read the information about the nuclear plants, I can't help but know that my dad would have known very much what needs to be done in this situation to prevent a serious nuclear disaster.
I have had the opportunity to read much of his history in the nuclear industry, both in the Navy and in the civil sector. My dad served under Admiral Rickover, who was considered the Admiral of the "Nuclear Navy". My dad was a key person in building four air craft carriers, including being the chief engineer of the Enterprise. He also was involved in the conversion of the Bainbridge, the first nuclear frigate and designed the seal, and the Nautilus, the first nuclear submarine. Dad was often referred to as "Mini Rickover", as he was third in command. Although his professional life often took a toll on his family and personal life, he took his job seriously and did his job with great pride. His officer reviews always reflected that sense of integrity and workmanship.
Unfortunately, due to the Alzheimer's, I feel my dad has his own nuclear disaster going on within himself. For years because of his brilliant mind, he was able to hide it from the public view. However deep inside his brain, changes were taking place uncontrolled. Sometimes they have problems at the nursing home because dad thinks he is still in the Navy, or because he thinks "people aren't doing their job". I am so grateful for loving and understanding staff who take the time to talk to him and comfort him until he feels safe again.
I am reminded of a story told by Admiral Rickover,
In ancient times a philosopher came to a city. He was determined to save its inhabitants from sin and wickedness. Night and day he walked the streets and haunted the marketplaces. He preached against greed and envy, against falsehood and indifference. At first the people listened and smiled. Later they turned away; he no longer amused them. Finally, a child moved by compassion asked, "Why do you go on? Do you not see it is hopeless?"
The man answered, "In the beginning, I thought I could change men. If I still shout, it is to prevent men from changing me."
I am sure that is why my dad shouts. It is as though part of him is shouting to the Alzheimer's, "HEY, STOP CHANGING ME!!"