3/19/09

When I went to see Dad yesterday, he seemed worried about something. “They’re trying to make me do things I can’t do,” he said. “Who?” I asked, but he couldn’t say. Later, he brought it up again, “They’re trying to make me see, but I can’t see so I don’t know what’s going to be the result.” The cat, sensing distress, came over and wrapped herself around his legs. He reached down and petted her, telling her “Yes, you need a couple of pats or something and you’ll be all right.”

Later, he said to me, “Do you have your metals . . . metallics?” We both knew this wasn’t what he was trying to say. “Things you have to hand in,” he tried again. “Work?” I asked, but I knew it was wrong even as I said it. I thought hard. “Taxes!” I was right, Dad was worrying about his taxes. His accountant, Fleischmann, is now in his 70s, pretty much retired, and was acting rather erratic the last time we saw him, plus he charges an exorbitant amount. So this year, we’re taking his taxes elsewhere, and I guess it’s making him nervous. I tried to reassure him that Marie and I will take care of it.

Trying to distract him, I told him about the wild possum that’s hanging out on my block. I wound up having to explain what a possum is. “A cat that hangs upside down by its tail and sleeps?” “No, not a cat, a rodent, with a long nose and a bald tail.” “I’ve learned something new tonight,” he said, pleased.

As I was getting ready to leave, he said, sadly, “I’ve forgotten what I learned two hours ago. I learned this that and the other but I’ve forgotten all of it.” “You learned about a possum, a rodent with a long tail.” “Oh, that’s right. You’ve got a terrific brain, you know that?”

Today, I got a call at work from Dad’s friend Peter, who had just gotten off the phone with him. “He sounds disoriented,” Peter told me “he says a man is in his apartment stealing things.” Immediately, I thought of the pile of boxes that was tied up by the door when I left yesterday. Marie must have taken them with her when she left, and Dad translated that into the image of a thief. His sense of gender is worse than ever –I was “Monsieur” yesterday. I wanted badly to rush over and reassure him, but I had kids all over the place and no back up, so the most I could do was call.