Tuesday, February 20, 2024

December 24, 2017

I wake up later than Robbie and Dad. She apparently woke up at 4 or 5, couldn't get back to sleep, and moved to the couch. He's very groggy in the morning. 

I made scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and pancakes. He stands by me quietly in the kitchen. It makes Robbie uncomfortable like he's failing somehow. She tries to cajole him away, but my sense is that he just wants to be close to me, which is most welcome. My Dad, in essence, which he is closer to now than perhaps any time since childhood, just wants to be close... to me. 

My timing wasn't great.  The eggs are cold by the time we sit down. We listen to the Dad's Mix I made on the jambox. Dad sings along to John Denver, but really responds to Neil Diamond. Dad takes his Mango drink from a straw which I am relieved we had. Robbie likes to pick at Dad's food after she's finished with her own. He pushes things around a lot but doesn't complain. He didn't really complain the whole trip. 

We decide we will do the Venice canals on the 25th instead of today so they can rest up a bit. Our Melting Pot reservations are that evening. He looks really nice in his blue flannel shirt and black pants. He wears size 9.5 airwalk black sneakers.

Robbie would like to go to Walgreens or CVS for a memory stick for her camera. We decide to do this first. Dad is still having trouble getting into Abe's white BMW without hitting his head, but the more we do it the better he is. He learns. I didn't want to go to the CVS in our neighborhood so we end up driving to the one on Pico. In the car, I play more music from his list. It is our soundtrack for this visit.

We pull in and find a spot on the right-hand side. Walking is slow going but I have his arm and we're in good spirits. He and I walk around the CVS. We end up on the toy aisle and there is a duck hunting game that comes with a Nerf gun. He picks it up. I hold onto it. He also spots some Pringles... We end up getting a few items. I decide I want to go to the Ralph's next door so I can pick up something for lunch. I've decided to make an afterschool special - tomato soup and grilled cheese. 

We go in together. Everyone seems so pleasant. We pick out a sliced loaf of Herbs de Provance bread and some fresh tomato soup from the deli. Abe is going to check out for us, but I remember I might want flowers and drag Dad across the store to look at them. He goes with me, but when Robbie is out of his view (even when she's walking behind) he begins to get nervous. I assure him she's just behind us. 

We exit, having a nice exchange with a gentleman renting a movie from the red box by the doors. Back to the car. Another nice exchange with the gentleman waiting for our spot. 

Back home the rose bushes are recognizable. We go to the backyard and set up corn hole. Dad talks about how tall he is and how everyone tells him how good he is at volleyball. I can't tell if it's from his PWP days or Maria's days, but perhaps both. He has always been athletic.

Abe is asked to take pictures and help capture things, which he does. A few games. I'm not sure why we end up going in. He may have just sort of started gravitating back into the house. I feel like I can follow his cognitive leaps a lot of the time. I know his jokes and a lot of his stories. When his associations go somewhere I feel like I can often fill in the gaps. 

We go inside and decide to play Jenga. I pull the nerf gun and duck thing out of the box and Dad immediately takes to it. It's a sort of pump rifle with soft yellow balls. He plays with it while Robbie, Abe and I play Jenga twice. He's more sensitive to sounds, especially loud startling ones than he was, but just as mischevious as ever. 

After that, I'm pretty sure it was nap time. I laid down as well. I think Abe checked in with work.

I slept hard. When I woke up Robbie was still awake (she says she can't nap). Dad was still napping. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey. Rise and shine!! I love his smell (his naked head, especially). I have no interest in infantilizing him, but I'll be damned if he doesn't smell like a baby. 

Dad says his mouth is "drier than a popcorn fart." And "It's colder than a..." I fill in witches' tit for him. Wacka wacka!!

We take it slow but eventually have to get ready for the Melting Pot, which I realize is a 45-minute drive away. I chose it because I remembered Robbie once saying she really wanted to try it but hadn't ever. 

The drive is long. I play DJ again for most of it. There are some good moments of Dad singing along or tapping his foot. He's able to keep up with our conversations for the most part. 

When we get to the Melting Pot we have a funny waiter who likes to tell jokes. He helps lighten the mood. We decide to split two entree combos. It is Christmas Eve. Most of the food is received well. The cheese is too heavily seasoned and tastes bitter when we get to the bottom of the pot. It's mostly good though... 

I try to play to his strengths and get Robbie to talk about their cat Bella, who she loves. 

We're tired and full when we get home. We hang out in the kitchen for a while. Robbie and I have a glass of wine (I'm a bit sneaky with her refills, but she appreciated it in a wink, wink, sort of way). I think we go to bed pretty early. When I say DLTBBB to him, he replies with "If they do hit them with a shoe..." which feels wonderfully... normal. 

December 23, 2017

Preparations are made. A realization that not everything I envisioned being done would be. Let it go.

Arrive early at the airport (the flight got in at 10:12 - which was also early). Habit takes us to departures instead of arrivals, but we park and get in with plenty of time. Abe and I take a spot close to Terminal 2 and line up with other expectants where most people are coming through to baggage claim.

Several individuals wearing Tampa sports team jerseys go by. We wait. Still, we wait. I text, unsure, only to find moments later that they've taken a different route and are waiting, with bags, at baggage claim a few steps to our left.

My Dad is in a wheelchair. I can see in his face his concern about my reaction. He wants to get out, but the individual with them has offered to take us all the way to the car and that is what Robbie wants. Several times on the way to the car his foot slips off. Robbie takes it as him not understanding or not obeying, but I can see it's just him wanting to get out of the chair. He has always been very physically affectionate and animated. I'm sure it feels unnatural for him to greet his daughter seated.

We get to the car and it is difficult to get in. He is tall and the car is low to the ground. Robbie has to squeeze in the back, but we make it work.

After a drive (in which Robbie complains to me in the back seat about how difficult he's been - well within his earshot) and jokes that he has selective listening (he doesn't hear her when she asks him to do things, but can hear me fine, etc), we arrive home. 

He notes the rose bushes and is incredulous when I tell him they're mine and I've been tending them.

The veggie plate, cheese & crackers come out. Arizona Mango. We snack in the kitchen and talk. Robbie brings up how she thinks we need to tell his family about his condition and he tunes out. It's too serious and she's being pushy. Sort of like "Mommy knows best." At some point, Robbie tells me he "doesn't understand anything anymore." In the short space of our time together it is already apparent to me how untrue this statement is, how insensitive, and unfair. This upsets me, but I try not to contradict her. I have to keep the peace.

We move into the living room and talk for longer, then realize it's getting late. We're back in the kitchen, Robbie asks what time it is: 12:30 am our time, 3:30 am theirs. He says, "That must be why I feel so funny." Some jokes around this. It was a light moment, and one I could relate to - that trippy feeling of being jet-lagged and underfed at the same time.

Dad lets a few farts out accidentally. I wouldn't mention it, except that I noticed this accidental habit stopped happening by the following afternoon (there were a few in the morning) and never returned. I also remember his mother and the joke he made (she probably can't hear it!) when we visited shortly before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She had been showing us around the garden.

They settle in eventually. We go to bed.