Dad Returns

I arrived at Dad’s house today to be greeted by “thank goodness you’re here, the whole world is going crazy.” I looked around the house for signs of disaster, but aside from cat puke on the floor and a pair of orange Calvin Klein undies on the dining room table, nothing seemed out of place. Dad was on the phone with Charlie, who must have demanded to talk to me, because Dad handed me the receiver. Charlie told me that Dad had told him he missed the boat and didn’t go on the cruise!!! I know they went because I stopped by on Thursday to check on the cat and nobody was here but the cat sitter, Marie’s friend Mary. About the cruise Dad says, "I don't remember a single thing that happened. Nothing. Nothing."

I called Marie, to see if anything unusual happened, but she says it was just a regular trip, that everybody was impressed with Dad’s appetite! She did say that he usually gets confused at this time of day (1pm-2pm), but gets better as the afternoon goes on and in the morning. She wants me to bring him to Dr. Honig and I don’t have the heart to tell her this is not something that can be cured. She’s also heard from her cousin that Pomegranate juice is good for the memory, so she’s been buying it for him at $10 a bottle.

She says he told her that this was his last trip, that he’s not going anymore, which is so sad that just typing those words made me start tearing up. Damn, I just grabbed the nearest napkin to dry the tears and it turned out to be full of crumbs, which are now all over me and worse, in my keyboard.

Dad claims he ate today, but I don’t see any signs of it, so I made him some coffee and scrambled eggs with cheese. When I asked him if he wanted coffee, he said “ whatever went crazy, maybe it’ll bring it back to life.” Indeed, after eating he seems a lot more oriented.
I’m baking a cake for Kate S’ birthday, and each step of the way, I tell Dad what I’m doing. “Now I’m breaking up the chocolate so it will melt easier. Now I’m putting the eggs in the batter. See this bowl? I’m baking the cake in it so it will have a dome shape.” “Stone?” he asks. “Dome,” I say, “like the shape of the bowl,” and I invert it to demonstrate. I feel like a cooking show, but if it helps keep Dad attached to reality, then it’s worth it.

Kate S. walks in, out of breath, and says to Dad “guess whose birthday it is?” “I don’t know,” he says, despite the fact that I’ve told him several times. “Mine!” she says. “OOOooo!!!” Dad howls, loudly. She tells him about the trip she and Brianna took to visit her aunt and uncle in CT. “Remember my uncle?” she says. “The very nice man who walked with you at my wedding?” Amazingly he does. “He’s the nicest man I ever met,” says Dad. “He never let go of me at all. It was very bumpy-wumpy.”

Quotable Dad: “Ice cream stops the whole world.”

I just glanced down at Dad’s feet and behold! He’s wearing two different shoes, one brown w/ a tassel, clearly much newer and one old black one w/ no decoration. When I pointed it out to him, he took them off to examine, and then proceeded to try to put the brown one back onto the wrong foot. We got him sorted out.

"I think I'm getting old," Dad says. "Things are sort of disappearing. You don't know where they went. That's the story. It's really weird." I'm crying again. I just discovered that I can touch type because my eyes are too blurry to see the keys.