Although my father died ten years ago, I felt that he'd been lost to me four years earlier. Dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, an illness that destroys the memory. He couldn't work any longer, but in his own home he got a long pretty well. I lived hundreds of miles away and wasn't able to see my parents often. So when my first child was a few weeks old, I flew home with the baby to visit them. After Mom met us at the airport, we picked up Dad and went to their favorite local restaurant. Dad was quiet, but kind and gentle as always, and he seemed glad to see me and his new little grandson. Everyone went to bed early. In the morning, Mom left for work. I puttered happily around in my old bedroom. I heard Dad shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee. Eventually I realized that he was pacing back and forth at the foot of the stairs as if he were uneasy. I called down to him, "Everything all right there? I'll be down in a minute." "Fine!" he called back, with a forced sounding cheerfulness. Then he stopped pacing and called up to me, "I must be getting old and forgetful. When did you get here?" I was surprised, but made myself answer calmly. "Yesterday afternoon. Remember, Mom met us at the airport, and then we went to The Skillet for dinner." "Oh yes," he said. "I had roast beef." I began to relax. But then he continued, hesitantly, "And...who are you?" My breath stopped as if I'd been punched in the stomach. When I could steady my voice, I answered, "I'm Laura; I'm your daughter. I'm here with my baby son, Max." "Oh," is all he said. "Oh." And he wandered into the living room and sat down. In a few minutes I joined him and found him staring blankly out the window. He was a polite host, asking if I wanted anything to eat, and if the room was too cold. I answered with an aching heart, mourning for his loss and for mine. ...
