I spent many hours with my father in the emergency room last
Friday night and, like the last not-long-ago visit, all of the tests showed
that whatever is messing with my father’s memory is Not Fixable. It was a difficult and confusing evening for
him, and so I considered it a blessing when my mother told me that the next day
he did not remember the e.r. visit.
And then he called me Saturday night. I was impressed that
the fog had cleared long enough for him to dial me. It took me a couple of moments to piece
together the gist of the conversation, but, had he been fully able to
verbalize, it would have been this: “Sal,
your mother told me that we were in the emergency room last night, and I just
wanted to check on how you’re doing. I don’t remember why we had to take you,
but I hope you’re better.”
Aww. For all that is going on for him, he is still my Daddy,
taking care of his girl. My heart was
and continues to be deeply touched.
I was out there again this morning, my parents’ 59th
anniversary. Mom was getting dressed and
needed my Dad to put in her hearing aid.
“Ed, you’re the only one who can put it in right.” When she gave it to
him, he started fumbling with the device itself, looking to fix some unknown
broken something. “No, Ed, put it in my
ear.” And saying something that must have
made sense to him, he reached over to her and some internal memory kicked in,
and he placed that hearing aid in her ear the way that only he could. And she
looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back at her, and I almost had to look
away at the intimacy of their gaze.
For all that is going on, they are still sweethearts, even
after 59 years of marriage.
