The Other Day

     I went to see Dad.  It was on Sunday that I went, in the morning.  I found Dad snoozing in an easy chair near the television.  He woke up and decided that we could sit on a couch to visit.  He almost fell getting there.  "Careful!" a few of the old folks who were sitting in easy chairs near the television said to him as they watched him lurch across the room.

     Dad sat down.  He held his head.  It is always the left side.  He was having another dementia headache.  "Yes, get me something ," he said when after several attempts he recognized what I was asking him.  One of the old ladies turned to two others, "He is getting worse since he been here."  The other two nodded.  "Yes, he is."  Dad was too focused on his headache to pay attention to what they were saying.  To their credit, they kept their voices low.  Even if they hadn't, I would not have "corrected" them.  I was a guest.  And I had no right to "correct" an older adult who were merely stating a true observation.

     The staff doing meds that day gave Dad a non-aspirin over the counter pain reliever and some orange juice.  He thanked her.  "I love orange juice," he said.  After a few minutes the headache was lessening somewhat.  Dad closed his eyes and rested.  I noticed that his hair was greasy.  I knew that his self-care skills were declining.  Damn, I thought.  He may live long enough to have to go into a nursing home.  These days, Dad was looking more and more that way to me.  I made a mental note to have him evaluated sooner rather than later.  "You might as well leave," Dad said.  I understood.  "I'll see you Friday, Dad.  I love you," I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss.  "I love you too," he replied.  I waved goodbye to the old ladies in recliners watching television and made my exit.  


sapphoq on life