The rest I don’t register, because suddenly I’m terrified. I’m losing him. I’m losing my father—the man who raised me single-handedly, who sacrificed his own comfort to put me through college, who vowed to show me enough love that I wouldn’t miss having a mother. I’m terrified that one day he won’t know who I am, and that that day is probably closer than I think.
And after everything we've both been through, I'm terrified that I'm already too late.
Suddenly, all the little things I've brushed off over the past year rise to the surface. The misplaced keys, the mentions of my mother, the men in the night.
My chest tightens. How much of him have I already lost without realizing it?
The doctor is still talking, but his voice has become distant, muffled beneath my throbbing pulse.
I glance at Dad. He's smiling politely, nodding in all the right places and trying so hard to be brave. Trying so hard to be the man who's always taken care of me.
A memory from before slips into my awareness. I was seven years old and had run to him after waking from a nightmare. He held me the rest of the night, stroked my hair and promised me I had nothing to be afraid of—that everything would be okay.
And I believed him. I still do.
But the problem is that Alzheimer's doesn't care about promises. It doesn't care that Dad is really the only person I have in the world.
It will take him anyway, memory by memory.
Until one day, I'll come home from a shift somewhere, and the man who taught me how to ride a bike, how to drive a car,how to live in a world filled with broken hearts, will look at me as though I’m a stranger.
The thought hits me so hard I can barely breathe. I came here expecting a diagnosis.
What I now have is a countdown.
There’s no way I can tell him about Callum’s death now. It would break his heart and confuse the hell out of him, and for what? Because Callum was his brother and it’s the right thing to do?
For once I have to be okay with doing the wrong thing. I’m going to keep this treacherous secret from my father and I’m going to have to live with it.
When we finally leave the office, Dad looks exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly as we walk to the car.
My mouth falls open. “For what? There’s nothing to apologize for.”
He gives me a weak smile. “For becoming a burden.”
The words slam into me so hard I stop walking.
“Dad.” I wait until he turns. “You arenota burden.”
His face floods with unjustified guilt. “But I will be.”
My eyes sting.
“No. You’ll never be a burden, Dad. I want to be here for you. I want to help. I want you to still have a full life, and I’m going to make it happen, okay? I promise.”
He pats my hand absently, like he’s humoring me. “Okay, love. Come on. Let’s go home.”
He doesn’t believe me. And somehow that makes it worse.
The following evening,I’m back at Velvet, waitressing of my own accord. Fiero has agreed to pay me a fair wage now in addition to all the medical insurance to cover my father’s needs.
I haven’t broached the topic of going back to nursing yet, because I feel as though I’m at a crossroad.
The hours here are convenient, especially now my father has an official diagnosis. It’s more helpful to him that I‘m around during the day and away while he sleeps.
After we returned home from the doctor’s I called Gayle and finally asked for help. She’s given me the name of someone close by who can visit some evenings while I work to check on Dad. Now that Callum is out of the picture, I need some reassurance that Dad’s okay when I’m not there.
