(My father has dementia.)
“Daddy,” I ask, “how are
you today?”
“They
put glass in my food. I think I passed the test and didn’t eat any.”
“I hope
not, “I declare.
“Did
you fix that thing?”
“That
thing?” I respond. “Is it in here?”
“What
about my suitcase? Did you find it in Florida?”
“How
did your suitcase get in Florida?” I ask.
“With
the swim team.”
“You
were in Florida with the swim team?” I question carefully.
“I
threw up when I couldn’t swim. No one liked me.”
“I’m
sorry you threw up,” I sympathize.
“Why?”
“Because
it hurts to be sick,” I answer.
“Who
was sick? Did you get my suitcase?”
“Yes,”
I tell him. “I found it. Everything is fine.”
“Did
those things match?”
“Those
things?” I ask.
No
response. He stares at the wall.
“They
match perfectly,” I promise.
“They didn’t like me so
they left me.”
“Where did they leave
you?” I ask.
“I’m so glad there are no
more woods,”
“Did they leave you in
the woods, Daddy?”
“Why do they leave me
every night to sleep alone?”
“I’m sorry you were
left,” I try.
“I got
to sleep at Autumn Cove for three nights.”
“I’m so
glad to hear it,” I say.
“I need
to figure this out, but I can’t.”
“I have
trouble figuring it out, too, Daddy.”
“You
can’t figure it?”
“No, I
can’t,” I tell him. “Sometimes it’s really hard.”
“I’m
sorry it’s hard.”
“Me,
too,” I speak, trying not to cry.
He pats
my arm. “It’s OK.”
“I
know, Daddy. It’s OK.”
“Did
you pay for my airline ticket?”
“Yes,”
I tell him. “I always do.”
“Well,
that’s good. I missed you.”
“You
did?” I ask.
“I
always miss you when I am asleep.”
“Me,
too, Daddy. I always miss you, too."
Even when you are old, I will take care of you. Even
when your hair has turned gray, I will take care of you. I made you and will
take care of you. I will carry you, and I will save you.
—Isaiah 46:4 ICB
© 2017 Lynn Lacher
www.lynnlacher.com
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