Leave-Taking

Me: Hi, Dad (he's seated in his chair in the living room of the family home).

He: Hi, sweetheart!  So good to see you.

Me: I came to say goodbye before our trip; brought a written itinerary for you so you can see where we'll be on which day and all.

Have you had a good day today?  (I  always ask and hold my breath because ofttimes it's just an "OK day", or "Not too good" day.

He: Hey, it's been a great day, honey.

Me: How so?

He: There was nobody here today that made us do....(brief pause) stupid things.


Me: Ha! I get it Dad.

The stupid things are activities supervised by the activity coordinator for the home. Sometimes they throw a huge red balloon around the living room, or sing songs, or (the worst) roll out cookie dough and make cut out shapes. He, being the only one at the home without dementia, finds them tedious and well, dumb but he puts up with it because that's who he is and always has been. But he'll let you know about it later.

I stayed to sit with him at dinner.  Poor guy, he's getting used to blenderized food.

He: See this?  (pointing to his tall glass of something resembling a caramel milkshake (but savory, I'm sure....)  They take what's on the plate and grrrrrrrrr, they blend it all up in the blender. Sometimes they
add milk to make it smoother. I drink that for my meal.

Dad's meal in a glass

What everyone else at the table ate

Me: Does it taste OK, Dad?

He: Pretty good most of the time.

Me: Do you want any salt on it?  (laughing)

He: No thanks, honey. I'm used to it. (such a stoic guy, especially considering eating was a serious passion for him back in the day).

Meanwhile the staff offered me a plate of food; "We have lots left", they said invitingly. But me? Well, after seeing what it looked like all pulverized in a glass, I just couldn't do it. Just couldn't.

Me: Bye Bye, Dad. Love you much. I'll see you again soon.

He: Love you too.