It wasn't until my dad got Alzheimers that I started talking to him. I was too busy growing up with interests and friends of my own. He was also the kind of dad that was either at work or at the bar at night. I know very little about him. I know he was born in Minnestoa, and has some half siblings, but other than that, he just never told me much, nor did I ask.
Now,we sit and talk for hours. We talk about Alaska, where I was born, and we talk about when we lived at the beach, and how he wished he bought a house down there. He had the money, I am now told, lots of it. He can't figure out why he didn't. We talk about all the new construction around town, as we go on our daily drive. Same route, same places, same buildings. The streets are busier this week. Cars are full of people trying to get ready for the holidays. My dad keeps commenting about how many horses are on the roads now. Lots of them. Yesterday, the sun was in our eyes, so I had to do some creative right turns to see the most of our regular route. We talk lots about the Navy, and his time serving his country. In fact, he shows me his uniform, and pictures all the time, just in case I forget.
The best place for our talks is around the kitchen table. He always sits in his regular seat and I've changed locations of my seat. I'm actually sitting in my older brother's spot. The sun would be in his eyes, if I sat in my chair on the other side of the table. He was telling me yesterday, about people that are trying to rob him of his money. Its very important for me to watch, he says, and to tell him immediately if I see anyone back there. We talked for over an hour about our strategy for keeping his money safe, and keeping the bad guys away. He sees everything, he tells me.
I also try to eat with him. I need to slow down though. I'm putting on weight eating hamburgers and milk shakes. I can't recall all the benefits of a Wendy's hamburger, plain, ketchup only, but I sure come up with positive things to say, when I eat with my dad. "Isn't this great Dad" and "Its my favorite" Sometimes he agrees, and takes a few bites. Sometimes he doesn't like it and spits it on the table. It reminds me of feeding my son when he was a baby. He spit out everything that didn't agree with him. I'm glad my dad still likes peas.
I wish I really could understand what he is saying. His words are all jumbled and mixed up. Some of the words aren't even real words you would find in the dictionary. I can find them in my heart, and I do get that translation. Sit with me. Talk with me. Let me see your smile. Let me know I am safe and you will take care of me. I think that might be what the robbers are all about. If they indeed took all his money, who would take care of him?
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We will all gather at my brothers. There will be about 35 of us. I wlll look around and see all the faces, young and old, and know it all started with my mom and dad. He doesn't know our names, he can't remember that we are his. He will cry I'm sure. His heart will tell him that somehow he is connected to all of us, even if his brain won't let him anymore.
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