“I-I have to talk to my brother and sister,” I utter, rising on shaky legs.
I came home for one thing, and I couldn’t even do that. I couldn’t take care of my father. I can hardly look after myself. Who was I kidding...
I push from the door, leaving the doctor mid-sentence.
Tears burn and my throat closes over. But I slide my phone from my bag and dial my sister.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, CC. What’s happening?”
I sniff, trying to haul in a lungful of air. “Nothing good. The doctor says Dad has to go into a home.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the plan. It’s too early yet.”
“He’s deteriorated,” I say softly.
“Did you stick to the routine and menu Marie left? It was crucial to slowing down the progress of the disease.”
I hate it when she talks down to me, but right now... I deserve it.
“I tried, as much as possible. Mostly, I did, yes.”
“Mostly.” Her tone sinks, along with my gut.
And when a tired sigh comes through the phone, my chin wobbles. “I really did try. I thought he was doing okay, you know.”
I’m sobbing into the phone now, which will only annoy my sister further. She hates criers.
“Listen to me. Just do as the doctors ask, okay? You tried your best. What matters now is Dad gets the best care he can.”
“Sure, right. Okay.”
I suck back a sob.
“And Celeste,” she adds. “Merry Christmas.”
The line goes dead.
Merry Christmas to you, too.
Not brave enough to fill my brother in, I leave that task to my sister. Instead, I turn back and push through the door to the small appointment room.
The doctor is tapping away on his tablet but looks up when I sit back down. “How do I apply for a place for Dad?”
“There’s a few forms to fill out, finances to sort, etc. I’ve already emailed it to you as per your sister’s request.”
My mouth falls open. She already knew. She already knew and didn’t think to include me in the decision, let alone the discussion that I’m guessing happened over the last few days.
While I was . . .
“You know what, I just want to see Dad, if you don’t mind.” I rise, and he follows.
“Sure, I’ll show you the way.”
We walk down the hallway until we come to a communal dayroom of sorts. Elderly people sit around in various conditions, all in recliner lounges. Some doing activities and some asleep. I spot Dad right away. He’s reading in the chair by an old piano topped with Christmas decorations.
It’s only now that I let my gaze wander and take in the festively decorated space.
It’s . . . lovely.
