“We’ll do it. Your mom will get a phone call from the lab, and they’ll set it up.” He opens the exam room door. “If you all need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” He turns to Dad as we enter the hallway. “Ed, it was good to see you. Let me know if I can do anything for you, all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. All right,” Dad says, sliding his hand over his hair—or what’s left of it, anyway. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Howser and I exchange a smile.
My father and I leave the office and step into the cool afternoon. The sun is out, but partially covered in clouds, and a murder of crows flies above our heads. Dad puts his hat on as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, and he exhales.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
“Where’s your mother again?”
I smile. “She’s at the dentist. She’ll be home when we get there.”
He scoffs as he reaches the passenger door. “I don’t know why in the hell she thinks that I can’t drive myself to the damn doctor. I wiped your ass, and now she thinks you need to wipe mine.”
“Hey, Dad, no offense, but I’m not wiping your ass whether Mom says to or not.”
The irritation on his face shifts into humor, and he chuckles.
We get buckled in and back on the road without discussing Mom’s dental appointment again. It would only be the five-thousandth time. I can see why Mom is so tired. Just the mental load of this is exhausting, but I’m so grateful to be able to do it.
I took a ton of notes on my phone during the appointment and asked all the questions Mom wrote down for me. The doctor is adjusting Dad’s medication to help with his evening agitation and helped me better understand what the future might look like. It’s different with every case. But I do feel like I have a better grasp of what kind of support my parents might need.
“What day is it?” Dad asks, flipping his visor down.
“It’s Wednesday morning.”
“Don’t you have school today?”
I pause and think about my answer. The doctor said it’s best not to correct him if it will lead to more confusion or distress. We’re supposed only to correct him if it’s for his safety or if it’ll reduce his anxiety.He called it “compassionate redirection,” which sounded a lot easier in the office than in practice.
“I have to go in later today,” I say, leaving out the fact that it’s to work and not to class.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to stop somewhere and get some lunch?” I ask.
“Nah, I just want to go home and see your mother.”
I bite my lip to keep from getting emotional.
Dad was always the beast, the man who could do and fix anything. To see him almost childlike, yet still in his huge body,is sad. And weird. But Mom is clearly his safe space. I’m glad he has her.
I grasp the steering wheel harder as my brain drifts to Gianna. This is what I want to be for her—her safe space, her rock when things get hard. She deserves someone to love her like I will.Like I do.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend now?” Dad pulls his brows together. I’m afraid to answer because I don’t know what decade he’s living in right now. “What’s her name?”
Damn. How do I compassionately redirect this?“She was busy today.”
“That dark-haired girl. What’s her name?”
“Gianna?”
“Gianna. Yes. That’s her. Where is she at today?”
“She’s working. She said to tell you hi.”
His smile reaches both ears, and he rests back in his seat. It might be the first time I’ve seen him relax all day. He turns to me, ready to speak, but then his forehead wrinkles again.
