Householder’s is a home decor and gift boutique that I opened on October 13, 2007. It is named after my grandfather, Doctor John Householder who struggled with Alzheimer’s Disease for nearly ten years. I have since closed the shop, however I value the experience and am so happy I was able to have the opportunity to follow my dream.
Here is the full story:
“I hope that never happens to my grandpa” – that is what I said to myself as a little girl after seeing a commercial about Alzheimer’s disease. I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be if my grandfather didn’t want to play with me anymore because he got a disease that made him forget who I was. I banished the thought, turned off the TV, and went to tend to my dolls. I didn’t think about it again until 1993, when my mother informed me that my grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.
I felt numb standing there by the dresser, fiddling with some knick knack, as she told me of the diagnosis. While she was talking, I imagined all the horrors of a disease I knew very little about – all I knew was that it made you forget -everything and everybody. What I didn’t know, and couldn’t possibly, was that what transpired in the following years is what gives me my purpose today.
My grandfather’s name is Doctor John Householder. Yes, Doctor, it is his actual given name, not a title or occupation. He was known to his friends and siblings as Doc, known to his daughters as “Daddy”, and known to me as “GH”, which stood for Grandpa Householder. He was born March 14, 1922; the first of three children. He had a sister, Martha, and two brothers, Abe and Russell Jr. His mother died when he was very young, and his father remarried a woman named Lillian, and they went on to have a son, George. The five children grew up in Junction City, Ohio – a small rural town where his father owned the Hardware and Feed Store, served on the school board, and was the local bank president. In the late 1940’s, his father bought a 200 acre farm and became a part time farmer. The farm had beef cattle, pigs, chickens, and fields of wheat, hay, corn, and soybeans, as well as a large flower garden.
GH joined the Navy in the 1940’s, and served in World War II, Korea, and the reserves during Vietnam. He married a woman named Margaret and had three children; two daughters – Linda Marie and Shirley Anne – and a son, John Michael. GH was an electronic technician aboard many of the Navy destroyers –my mother, Linda, remembers going aboard every ship he was on when he was at port, and how exciting it was to see how the sailors lived on those huge vessels. He divorced in the late 50’s, but continued to raise the three children, never remarrying. GH retired from the Navy in 1966 as Master Chief of Electronics. He moved his family to Daytona Beach, Florida where he pursued a career in real estate. Not long after his retirement, he moved back to Junction City to care for the farm and his aging parents; while his grown children stayed behind in Daytona to pursue the lives they had begun.
That is where my story begins – in Daytona Beach, where I was born in 1977. My mother and father divorced when I was two, but we stayed in Daytona where my mother worked at the local hospital as a registered nurse. I remember going to Junction City to visit GH on the farm. I remember going with him to the Top Hat Restaurant, where he went everyday for lunch, and as soon as we walked in it seemed like the whole restaurant would say “Hey Doc”, and he would always introduce me as “my best friend”. It was like being with a famous person, minus the paparazzi; everyone knew him, and seemed to adore him as much as I did. I remember fishing for blue gill in the pond, where I would willingly dig up the worms for bait, but begrudgingly put them on the hook; and at dusk, catching jars full of lighting bugs; and what was my favorite part of the visit – the morning feeding of the barn cats. GH and I would walk up to the barn from the main house, carrying aluminum bowls filled with milk and dog food, and I would desperately try not to spill any even though my short legs were no match for the jagged gravel of the lane. We would dead end into a large barn where the cats would wait, he would “meow” to coax them from their hiding places. They scattered when they saw me, but their kittens were always left behind for me to pick up and snuggle (one of which came home with me, much to my mother’s dismay).
He would also come to visit us in Daytona quite frequently. I remember putting a lace tablecloth on my head making him marry me. I remember we would go to up to the corner candy store to get my favorite candy, Sixlets. I remember having a coloring contest that my mother was the judge of, where during his bathroom break, I felt insecure about my coloring ability, so I scribbled yellow all over his drawing, and when he came back and asked what happened I innocently said I was trying to help his picture and that it looked better with the yellow scribbles. He agreed, but I won the coloring contest – a hollow victory achieved by crayon sabotage. Bratty? A little – But he was a saint to put up with it!
I kneeled on the sofa and cried every time he left to go home. Ask my mother, to her, she will say he was the disciplinarian, a stern patriarchal figurehead – I am sure he had to be, a single father trying to keep them all in line …but to me – he was my kind hearted soul mate.
My mother and I moved to Atlanta in 1985. I went to Evansdale Elementary and then to Pleasantdale, and then to Henderson High School – where I formed deep friendships with many of the people that are still very much involved in my life today, including my husband, Greg.
It was in 1993 when I learned that GH had gotten lost during a trip to see some of his friends in Hiawasee. My mother and my Aunt Shirley had to go pick him up, and quickly took him to a doctor for a checkup. It was then that he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, a condition that had started a couple of years prior. We were all devastated. We decided it was best to move him to from the small town farm to the big city, where he would split time living at my mother and my aunt’s house. No one knew exactly what to expect, especially me. He attended my graduation from Henderson in 1995 – wearing a UGA tie, a little slower in step, but spirited and happy for me, just like he always was.
I went to the University of Georgia where I began to study Physical Therapy. I quickly learned they didn’t offer that major and I’d have to transfer, so I decided my sophomore year to get on the program waiting list at Georgia State University. At GSU, I changed my mind about physical therapy and ended up trying every other major that was offered. I am artistic and creative, almost to a fault, so I spent a long time trying on different careers – all the way up until now.
During my many years at college, I lived with some friends, while GH went back and forth between houses. Since I was back in town, I was able to easily visit and help out with his escalating care needs. Every chance I got to educate myself on the disease, I took. Every class that involved a term paper, I found way to spin it so I could write about Alzheimer’s disease. I basically majored in Alzheimer’s disease; they just didn’t offer a degree for it. My roommates both got engaged, and with their nuptials pending, I suddenly had no where to live. In what turned out to be perfect timing, I moved back in with my mother in 1999. Alzheimer’s progresses in stages and as the brain deteriorates, it results in not only memory loss and confusion, but a loss of physical function – like how to eat and how to walk. It became clear that it was not beneficial to GH anymore to move from one house to another, so he came to live with my mother and I, permanently. Here I was at home, every day, to witness the vicious progression of the disease.
What was probably most shocking to me was the fact that he knew what was happening to him. It is one thing to be forgetful but unknowing, it is quite another to be faced with the fact that you know your brain isn’t working as it should, and you can’t say what you are tying to say. As GH used to say too often when he would get frustrated, “It’s just hell to get old.”
We tried pharmaceutical interventions to help ease some of the symptoms, unfortunately, the side effects can sometimes be much worse than the benefits. Our family was lucky enough to give him the quality of life he deserved, and we were able to take care of him in a setting where he would be comfortable. He was rarely combative, what can be a common attribute of the disease making it very difficult for home caregivers – which is why sometimes the only choice for care is a skilled nursing facility. My mother is a nurse, so we had those skills to draw upon, and she taught me everything I needed to know, and I educated myself on the rest. Even when he couldn’t verbalize his thoughts anymore, I took comfort in a glimmer that I would see in his eyes when I walked into the room. My biggest fear was that he would forget who I was. I still don’t think he ever did.
The night before his last day, my mother and I sat with him in his room and looked through old photographs, reminiscing and telling stories. The next morning, before I went to class, I kissed him on the cheek, told him I loved him and that everything would be OK. He died, peacefully, at home later that afternoon. It was April 12, 2001; he lived with the disease for nearly ten years. Even when death is expected, it still maintains an indescribable depth of sadness.
We honored GH’s last wishes to be cremated, and dispersed his ashes off of Florida’s Gulf Coast. That is where my husband and I – after 12 years of dating – got married on October 19, 2006. We live in a house two streets over from Evansdale, where we met for the very fist time over 22 years ago. Greg was a tremendous help to my family and I during the time we were caring for GH. Greg is a lot like him, aside from being tall and lanky – he has that same kind soul.
As for my career, I finally found my calling – everything I have experienced has led up to my decision to open my own business. It is aptly named Householder’s – and is a home décor and gift boutique in Tucker. Many items are offered as part of an ongoing “Forget Me Not” promotion, where a portion of the proceeds goes directly to the Alzheimer’s Association. Many of these items are handmade, on the farm, by members of the Householder family! It is with great faith that by sharing this story with the community, I will be able to continually make a difference in the lives of those that are now struggling with this disease.
Householder’s – Home Decor and Gift Boutique
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