“It will never be perfect. Make it work.”
We don’t know how it all happened and it all happened so fast. Mom passed away and dad was leaving us one memory at a time. Dad had dementia. He ended up in a nursing facility about 10 minutes from our home. I was the only family member in the same city so dad became my responsibility. But responsibility is the wrong word. I worshipped my dad.
Additional information – Dad needed to be fed. He was forgetting how to feed himself. I was able to go every morning and feed dad his breakfast. Also, dad forgot that I was his daughter. I can almost hear a sad sigh filling the air. That was the usual response I’d get when I’d share this information. But it’s the wrong response.
You see, I was quite an interesting daughter. That’s a kind way of saying it. And dad forgot all about my past behavior and knew me only as the nice lady who came to see him every day. He always smiled when I came into the room. I got a major daughter do over!
Dad in his favorite hat
Dad didn’t speak too often. Maybe once a week a sentence would emerge. One day dad looked at me and said, “I love you.” I answered, “I love you too.” “No,” he said. “I really love you.” Then he was quiet. That was his conversation that month. He spent the next few weeks being a good listener.
After breakfast I’d knit. I knew one stitch which I’d use to knit scarf after scarf. Dad watched the colored yarn going through my fingers. Sometimes he’d smile and nod.
I’m searching for something profound to write to wrap this up. I’d like it neat and tidy. Nothing comes. So maybe I’ll just repeat the opening quote. “It will never be perfect. Make it work.”
Loveya – The Grandma
Artist, African hand drum student, yoga neophyte, and Grandmother of 22 or so grandchildren. I enjoy cooking and writing. I value good friends and quiet times for reading.