First Grade

     I was in first grade when Dad showed me some Mexican jumping beans. "There's a small worm inside," he said. We also experimented with magnets. He explained about the north and south pole. There were little magnets and one larger one that had a red handle. There was a cellophane-like "fish" that would rise up from the counter as you stroked it, "face" first to tale. And a white furry critter that did the same. There was also fun with balloons. "Static electricity," he told me as we rubbed them on our pants legs and then stuck them to the wall. We also made static by scuffing across the rug as we walked.

     I went outside once to play with some neighborhood kids. I didn't know them well. They started fighting with acorns. They flung them at each other across the driveway. I didn't like that. I was afraid of getting hurt by the sharp acorn points. So I went back inside.

     Dad has been forgetting more and more about the old stuff. He struggles to recall how old he is. He no longer knows the town he lives in. His brain is stumbling over newer memories. He remembers things from four days back [usually, after a fashion] but not three days back. And certainly not what he had for breakfast.

     Dad's veins in his hands are shriveling. His bones are very prominent, almost skeletal. Even his coloring is off. What used to be a rich olive complexion is now rancid.

     Some days he is aware that he is dying. On other days, I find him planning his escape into a new job, new apartment, old relationship. He can be quite adamant about some land that he thinks he still owns [which was sold off years ago] which he thinks will yield him about three or four thousand dollars to start over. During one of my visits last week, he complained to me vigorously that he had wasted his time by signing up to live [in the adult home]. Today, he was content that a relative had paid him a surprise visit on Friday [but he denied having the visitor return on Saturday].

     A staffer had stopped in today with two little ones in tow. Dad was delighted to see them-- he loves babies-- but they were not delighted to see any of the old folks there. The older one who I took to be around pre-school age hid behind her mother's legs and insisted that she wanted to go say hello to the people in the kitchen only. The toddler demanded carrying and turned her face away from Dad and his housemates.

     Dad insisted upon walking me out. He doesn't walk so much as stagger around. With me holding his hand and a staffer spotting him from behind, he managed an awkward lurch to the front door. He is receiving hospice now. Death is at the back door quietly waiting for him to be done with life. I will miss him forever after he dies.

     ~ sapphoq on life