Fog

Several things are taking my father. There’s the dementia but as bad, and at times worse, is the medications that he takes for it. He sleeps more and when he’s not sleeping he seems to be in a daze. I try to keep him engaged. I try to break through to him. I talk to him even when he doesn’t respond and even when he seems so far away. I try to talk to him about current events, sports or our past vacations. If he smiles, it’s a victory, the jack-pot. When I’m there with him at home I take him out for walks. Only once did we end up on a lawn in a pile of legs, human and metal tangled up. I was able to break our fall and in fact it was quite a gentle touch down. But I could see in his eyes the fear and from then on I always had his arm.


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