He says

Yes, you can take it, save it, and use it on the internet. I don't care.
Credit is already on the tag. Link back is not required.

     He stirs from his after lunch nap on the easy chair. He is frowning in his sleep. His mouth hangs open. I wait.

     He wakes up. "I'm getting weaker," he says. I say, "Yes." I've learned to allow him to talk about his illness and impending death. Anything other than simple agreement gets him riled up and then he says he doesn't want to talk about it.

     I wait.

     He traces his sunken cheekbones and his chin with the fingers of his left hand. "I'm losing more weight," he says. I nod and say, "Yes."

     He points in the direction of a newer housemate. "She stinks," he says matter-of-factly. "She will die first."

     "Saturday," he says. "My teeth are coming back Saturday." A staff person bounces over just then. "Tomorrow honey. You and I are going to the dentist tomorrow to get your partial plate." They exchange pleasantries. "I'm going home now for the day," she says. "You just got here," he laughs. And I know that he knows that she is part of the morning crew. "I worked the whole eight hours by myself," she tells me. I know that had to suck. One staffer with all these impaired older folks. Too many frail elderly people to look after.

     "Saturday?" he asks me. "My teeth are coming back Saturday?" "No, Dad. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Tuesday." "Who is taking me?" I tell him the staffer who just left will be taking him. "Oh, okay. Have I had three meals yet today?" I realize that he is using breakfast, lunch, and dinner as markers for how long before nighttime. "You've had two meals today, Dad." He accepts this. "Saturday for my teeth?" he asks again. "Tomorrow," I reassure him. "Not Saturday."

     "I'm going upstairs for my afternoon nap," he says at last. "Be careful driving home."

                                   ~ sapphoq on life