I get in my car to drive over to Memory Careon the north side of town.
The cracked-asphalt parking lot of the nursing home is a welcome sight as I pull into my usual spot. He’s probably at breakfast now with the other permanent residents. The yellow bricks and low roofline give away the age of the building, but the nurses who work here have always been kind and attentive.
Sandra, the front desk clerk, waves as I enter through the glass doors, and the typical nursing-home smell greets my nostrils. Most people hate it, and I used to. Now, it’s the familiar scent of the only family I have left.
“They’re at breakfast, sugar,” Sandra tells me.
“Okay, thanks. How is Marco doing?”
Her face lights up. “So big. Growing every day like a tomato plant.”
“That’s good, I hear.” I continue on down the hallway into the cafeteria.
Grey and white heads fill the room with a dark brown one right in the center. I reach his chair right as he sees me.
“Sugar bear! My sweet Katie.” My dad’s face brightens. “Jerry, have you met my girl?”
I’ve met him countless times.
Jerry continues to eat his oatmeal like no one said a word.
My dad stands up to hug me. Nothing in this world can compare to the feeling of a bear hug from my dad.
We both pull back, smiling, and I take the seat next to him.
“Well, honey, this is a nice surprise. I guess you got off work today?”
I used to work on Saturdays for overtime, so my visits were always in the evenings and on Sundays.
“Umm, yes, they let me off today.”
He smiles at me as he takes a bite of bacon.
Bad news doesn’t always bode well with his advanced memory loss. Recognizing me is usual, but everything else is unpredictable. Some days, he’s lost in the 1990s when he met my mom and I was born. It’s like he always knows I exist. Sometimes, I’m still a child in his mind, and somehow, I’m my adult self. Maybe he thinks there are two of me on those days, but either way, I’m glad he remembers me.
The worst days are when he thinks it’s the year 2000. He was a little paranoid about Y2K, but nothing compared to the devastation of my mother passing away when I was three.
“How is Stephen doing?” Dad smiles at me, and I know his next question will be about an engagement that’s never going to happen. “No ring yet?”
I was dreading this moment, and my emotions are at war within me about breaking the bad news.Is it worth it?I hate lying to him, but his mental health is more important to me than anything.
“He’s doing good. How are you, Dad? Everyone treating you right? Or do I need to teach Jerry here a lesson?”
Jerry’s head pops up at that, dark eyes narrowing at me. His skin contrasts the white curls on his head. “You’d better watch yourself, girl.” He shakes his head, attention returning to his breakfast.
We like to mess with Jerry.
At only fifty-seven, Dad is the youngest resident at the facility. Most of them are in their eighties or nineties, and I think Jerry is on the higher end.
“Jer, he’s...he’s all right some days. Last night, he nearly blew a gasket when I beat him at bingo.”
That does it. Jerry’s eyes dart up again, and this time, they’re narrowed on my dad.
“Oh, is that so, Mark? You and your girl had both better watch yourselves. I got a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound grandson who’ll be here in two and a half seconds if I call him up. You don’t wanna be getting mixed up with my family—I’ll tell you that right now.” His tiny, frail body rises up slightly.
I cannot express how good I have gotten at my poker face in these situations.
“Tsk, tsk,Jerry.Don’t bring Owen into this. If you lost at bingo last night, there’s always next Friday.”
