Ten Days

That's how long it's been since my mom has seen my dad. The last time they were apart this long? World War Two.

When my brother Dan and his wife stayed with Mom for 2 days this past week, Dan went to feed our dad his lunch and took a couple of seconds-long videos on his cell phone of Dad. He asked Dad to say "Hi Katie!" (Our mom's nickname.) There was Dad's face, sweet and pitiful and almost without expression, except for the slightest I'm-too-worn-out-to-care perplexed look. Big pure blue eyes, combed white hair, looking into the camera, trying, as always, no...just since he's been in dementia, to do as he is told.

It took two tries, and prompting, for him to barely whisper "Hi Katie." And I don't think he knew who "Katie" was. He knows her as "Kathleen." In fact, Dan first said "Say hi to Mom." This doesn't work at all. When I used to kiss Dad good night at Shiny Meadows and say "Mom will be here to see you tomorrow," he would sometimes say "My mom?" And I would look into his eyes and say "No. Your mom has been gone a long time." (45 years). I learned quickly to say "Your wife, Kathleen, will be here to see you tomorrow."

Think of it, though. He wakes up in this immobile life, this meal, sleep, meal, confusion of a life, and his mother is there, standing next to his bed. "I've missed you so much," she might say. "I'd like you to spend the whole day with me." Big pure blue eyes, combed white hair, looking at her. Happy, very happy, to do as he is told.