Sunday, October 5, 2008
Just to keep us all humble, after I wrote the blog yesterday about the letter from my father in which he wrote "I love you," my sister called. She's in California keeping her eye on things for a few days and on the way to the restaurant, Marie Callender's, where she was taking my Mom and Dad for lunch to celebrate their 64th wedding anniversary, my Dad said, "I sure wish Robin were here." Not thirty minutes later my Dad said to my Mom: "What is the name of that girl I was telling you about who drives so well?" "Robin?" my mother asked. "Ah yes, that's right," he said. He does love me, I know that. But he can't always remember my name!
You have to remind yourself it isn't the man who has forgotten your name, it is the disease. Another example: my Mom's name is Faye, and one day a few months ago when my father was in rehab after a fall I kissed him goodbye at the end of a visit and started to leave. "Wait, wait, wait," he said and I turned back. "Who is Faye's husband?" He had a look of real concern on his face. I pointed at him and spoke so he could read my lips: "You are." "Okay, okay, okay." He smiled. He was just tring to keep things straight.