The Biopsy Results Are In

May 26,2010

Last night, between 2:30 & 3:00 am, I heard a noise upstairs that woke me up. I went up and peeked in on the boys who were all sleeping peacefully. As I turned back toward Dad’s room, I heard something. It was one of those noises you know you should recognize but just can’t quite put your finger on. I tiptoed as quietly as I could down the hall and stopped short of the doorway as I saw Mom’s wheelchair roll into view, followed by Dad pushing it. It only took an instant for me to register that he had her cremains in it and was pushing it around the bedroom. He was talking softly to “her”.
With the definite feeling that I was intruding on something incredibly precious and extremely private, I began to back my way out of sight. It wasn’t until I reached the stairs that I realized tears were flowing down my face. In that moment, I missed her more than I have since the moment she died.
This morning when I went to wake the boys for school, I glanced in on Dad. Her remains were back in their place on top of her jewelry chest and the wheelchair was back in its place. I would have been able to have convinced myself it had all been a dream until I noticed that one of her favorite shirts (the only piece of clothing Dad had insisted on keeping) was draped over the back of the wheelchair and one of her porcelain dolls was in the seat. I knew he had found his own way of connecting with her in the wee hours of the morning and I was happy for him.


Just after lunch today the phone rang. It was Dad’s primary physician’s nurse. The test results from the biopsies he’d had last week were in. The good news is the results on his wrist were normal. The bad news… on the cheek was a definite malignancy. She explained that he was being sent to a Dermatologist (who would determine if it was simply skin involved). The fear is that it has already progressed enough to be in his cheekbone. At his age, and in his state of physical health, Dad cannot have Chemotherapy. My heart shattered yet again as I absorbed the ramifications. Arrangements were made for the Doctor to call my cell phone over the next couple of days to schedule an appointment (I will be out of town for the next several days). We were going to move very quickly on this.
As soon as I got off the phone, I went and sat down on the floor next to Dad’s chair. I put a hand on his arm. “Dad, that was the doctor’s office. They got the results of your biopsies back.”
“Well, what did they say?” His eyes were so clear and aware. His voice was strong when he said, “What happens now?”
I replied, “We go to a new doctor. We are being sent to a dermatologist and he will tell us where we go from here.”
He grinned. He actually grinned and patted my hand, “Well, we are just going to have to make it clear to him that we can’t have him cutting my face all up. My public demands that I look good and I’m sure Hollywood will be calling any day now with my new contract.”
I couldn’t help but smile (this has been a running joke as long as I have known Mom and Dad). I saw the worry enter his eyes but he put on a brave face. “If we have to go to a new doctor, then we have to go. But I think it’s all a waste of time.”
“Dad, we have to fight this thing.”
“Ok, if you say so. I guess I don’t have much choice if I want to stay alive.” He smiled again as he winked. “But we have to call my agent first thing in the morning.”
My heart sang as I realized something… Dad wants to live!

Kidneys, Tears and Fears

May 24, 2010


The last few days have been intense to say the least. Friday afternoon (May 21st), we went to see Dad’s Kidney Specialist for his quarterly check up. I found out at the last one in Feb., that Dad’s kidneys are severely damaged. His latest test results indicate that his kidneys are only functioning at about 35%. Reality check… there is nothing that can be done to stop it but there are a few things we can try that might slow the deterioration down. The first of which is several medication changes starting with his high blood pressure meds. He has been on one med that could be the reason for the declination in his kidney function. Ironically, it’s one of the ones his primary doctor had cut in half a few days before. We won’t know if it’s working until the end of July when he goes in for lab tests again.

On Saturday afternoon, Dad was watching TV and Jordyn was walking through to get something from the kitchen. Dad told him to “come here”. When Jordyn approached his chair, Dad struggled to his feet and wrapped Jordyn in a big hug. “If I am not here this summer, and I might not be. You never know…” Dad told him. “I want you to know I love you and I’m proud of you. You are going to set the world on fire if you will just stay on track.”
Jordyn was blown away and immediately came to find me. His eyes filled with tears, he relayed what had happened. “Nonni, was Pop trying to tell me he is going to die?” his voice quivered. “I mean, I know he’s old and stuff but he was acting really weird. Is he going to die… like soon?”
I turned to face him and tried to be as honest as I could, “Honey, he IS old and nobody has a clue when he, or anybody else for that matter, is going to die. He’s just missing Munner very, very much right now.”
Before I could say another word, he threw himself down on the couch and pulled a pillow over his head as gut-wrenching sobs wracked his body. I ran to him, “Honey, what is it?”
His reply was muffled so I wrestled the pillow from his grasp. Between sobs he cried in such a lost voice, choking on his tears, “She really isn’t ever coming back is she? Munner is really dead and I am never going to see her on earth again. I just realized… And Pop… It’s not fair! It’s just not fair!”
I knew it would eventually hit him I just never thought it would take so long or hit so hard. I pulled him into my arms and let him bawl it out.
He eventually wore himself out crying and hiccuped as he gulped in air. “Nonni,” he asked in a subdued voice still full of tears, “I didn’t get it before. I don’t want Pop to want to die.”
I squeezed him tightly, “I don’t either, Jordyn. But, it’s like Pop’s said through all of this… Whatever happens, we just have to believe it is God’s Will. And we have to love him even more now that Munner is gone. We have to keep making him want to hang on for as long as we possibly can.”
He nodded solemnly and went to his room. He was quiet the rest of the night but there was a deep sadness that hadn’t been there before, every time he looked at his Pop.


On Sunday, Damien (the only one of our grandchildren that lives out of state) arrived to stay with us for a few days. His other grandparents, GiGi and Grandaddy, who he lives with, brought him. As soon as they left, Dad wanted to know why he hadn’t been introduced to them. I pointed out that he met them when they were here in Dec. He walked around grumbling that people are always telling him things that are “bullshit”. 20 minutes later, he again asked who those people were that had been here. I explained that they were our ex-son-in-laws parents, that their son had been married to our oldest daughter. He doesn’t remember Allen at all and informed me he isn’t even sure who my children are. I went through it with him again (we do this quite frequently).
Dad has been very confused by this new child in the house. I keep Melissa’s 3 children Mon., - Wed. and having an extra kid around really messed with Dad. I can’t begin to count how many times I answered the “Who do these children belong to again?” question on today.
Also of notable mention, Dad was off balance after dinner tonight. I waited until he headed to bed before coming downstairs, to be on the safe side. About 15 minutes later, I heard a small thud and then I heard Cameryn say, “Pop, did you fall down again?”
I raced upstairs and there he was lying on the floor between the sofa and his desk. “Dad!”
He assured me he was fine, just dizzy. As soon as I had determined that he wasn’t bleeding from anywhere, he tried to get up. He couldn’t do it. I had to get behind him and physically pick him up (he was complete dead weight in my arms) and get him seated on his walker. “I didn’t know you were so strong,” he said.
Then he leaned forward and grabbed something from the seat of his desk chair and handed it to me. It was a folder we had spent a great deal of time this evening looking for, a folder that he had insisted somebody had gone into his desk and stolen. I insisted no one had stolen it, he had simply misplaced or moved it himself.
“On the bright side, I found this on the floor under my desk. I might not have found it if I hadn’t fallen. Guess nobody stole it after all.”
With a shake of my head, I put it where it belongs and helped him back to bed. Admonishing him again to use the walker if he got up during the night at all.

May 20, 2010

I got up this morning excited at the prospect of going for a long walk on the beach. My solitary walks have become a vital part of my mental health routine. I haven’t been able to resume the habit since 3 days before Mom was hospitalized (over a month ago).
I realized I had neither hat nor sunglasses as I headed home from getting the boys off to school. I decided to go home, change into my swimsuit (might as well get some sun) and grab both. But, when I arrived, Richard was up and getting ready to go job hunting. I, of course, have to be here so I settled on a compromise of going later when he got back home.
As usual, God had a plan. If I had gone, I would have missed a very important telephone call. Just before Richard left, the house phone rang and he said it was for me. I absolutely never get calls on that phone. He brought it to me and sat down to see who it was.


It was the State Attorney’s office calling to tell me, “In light of your mother’s recent death, we don’t have enough evidence to take Ms. M (T, the infamous ex-caregiver) to trial. Her deposition is null and void because she can’t testify now.
We want to offer her a diversion package that would, of course, include a stipulation that she can never have contact with anyone in the family again. If she did, she would be incarcerated.”
“But what about stopping her from being able to do this again?” I asked as I felt panic begin to rise inside me. “Don’t you get that she preys on the elderly? She takes their money and drains them dry!”
“Well, we do not have the authority to take away her license.”
“What license?” I was almost shrieking. “She is not licensed to practice in the medical field. She let it lapse a couple of years ago and hasn’t renewed it as of last week. Look it up on the internet. I do every couple of months! Her business license???”
He interjected, “You would have to get in touch with the licensing bureau about that…”
“Look, Mom couldn’t have testified anyway. I have tried to tell you that before. She had DEMENTIA. I want to know what can be done to stop T from going out and doing the same thing to other elderly people?” I cried, “The elderly need protection from people like her! I don’t care whether she goes to jail or not. I just don’t want her doing this to anybody else!”
His voice filled with compassion at my outburst, “I will see if we can get a condition set into motion that she can NOT work with the elderly again. I’ll see what I can do and give you a call back, probably this afternoon.”
“I’m here to help you,” he reminded softly. “If this goes forward, your dad is going to have to come in and give us a deposition.”
My voice with thick with the frustration I felt, “He isn’t capable of that! He has Alzheimer’s. He is so confused on the T issue, he thinks she was stealing their pills and going to Mexico to sell them. Half the time, he will tell you that and the other half of the time, He will tell you he thinks she is in jail. He can’t remember what he ate for dinner 5 minutes after he leaves the table!”
“If we attempt to prosecute, we won’t have any choice. His condition will be taken into consideration but he will HAVE to give us the deposition. Let me see if I can get the no elderly condition to go through first.”


As I hung up the phone, I was livid! I get that Mom was T’s main victim. I get that maybe T shouldn’t go to jail over the missing pills (I still think, with good reason, someone else was stealing them). But what about the unauthorized charges on Dad’s credit card? What about the evidence of neglect (and her poor judgment) as time went on? What about the things that were stolen from the house (yes, I know it couldn’t be proven but she and her employees were the only ones here when the items of considerable value went missing)! I do not get why she should be allowed to have ANY opportunity to EVER prey on another elderly person again.
I am indignant! I am furious! I am in physical pain at the thought that she will get a slap on the wrist after all she has put this family through. And I am sickened by the possibility of not being able to prevent it from happening to someone else…

***** If you are lost about T and how she fits in, please see “It Only Takes One Bad Caregiver to Ruin You” **** originally published on this blog on March 22, 2010.

Oh, What a Night

May 17, 2010

Dad has been very quiet today and it is obvious that he is not feeling well. He ate a good breakfast but he went to sit in his chair immediately after. He went back and forth between the chair and lying down on his bed until lunchtime. He ate a good lunch and promptly went to lie down.
I repeatedly told him all day that we had a doctor appointment at 3:15 with his primary physician. So when it was time to leave we slowly made our way into the car and off. The speed limit in the Village is 15 mph most of the way. The instant I inched it up to 17, Dad started lecturing me, “The neighbors want things a certain way here. You can’t go speeding through the Village and not expect somebody to bitch about it.”
I kept it at a steady 17 mph until the limit went up to 23 mph. I wasn’t trying to antagonize him, but I didn’t have my foot on the gas pedal and I didn’t feel like riding the brake. He fussed all the way to the front gate (exactly 1 mile from the house). As we were turning out onto the Hwy, he asked me how much it was going to cost to bury Mom. I explained that he had already paid for everything.
He suggested I call our pastor and ask him when he thought Mom should be buried. As soon as I agreed he announced, “I guess it’s kind of crazy to keep her sitting on the dresser (it’s actually on top of a large free standing jewelry chest). I just kind of like having her there. Tell Pastor Pete I think we should get her in the ground.”
I told him we would do it all however he wanted things done. I repeated everything I had discussed with the pastor about it the last time I spoke to him.
“Well, maybe, as soon as we get everything paid off, you can put us both in the ground. I want to be buried next to your mother as soon as it’s paid off.”
“Dad,” I said calmly. “Mom’s is already paid off. You don’t owe any more money for anything including burial. Yours is being paid for by the accountant every month. And you could easily be alive when it gets paid off. I can’t promise to bury you as soon as you pay it off.”
“But once I pay it off, there won’t be a reason to hang around. So I’m just going to have to see how long it will take to pay everything off,” he made it sound eerily feasible. “Then I will know when it’s ok for me to die.”


The subject dropped there as we finally arrived. Dad insists on loading and unloading his walker from the car. He isn’t capable of it most of the time but he is a gentleman and it rankles him to have a “girl” do it for him. Today was no exception. He struggled to unload it, pushing me out of the way, until he got light headed. He refused to use the ramp and he refused my help picking it up over the curb. When I opened doors for him, he tried to insist I go through first.
He was acting out in a rather childlike manner when we sat down in the waiting room. I offered him a magazine. He declined. He began fidgeting and glanced around the room making a variety of noises for several minutes before he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, SHIT!”
All six of the other people in the room turned to look at him, me included.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I asked softly.
He pointed to his feet. “I guess I should have put my shoes on to come here.”
I smiled at his slippers and touched his arm. Several people around us smiled and looked away. “I’m sure it’s ok. At least you are comfortable, right?”
“I didn’t even notice it…” his eyes were clear for a moment and infinitely sad.


He turned away and resumed his fidgeting and noise making until we were called to the back. We went into the room where he gets weighed and he proceeded to begin to unzip his pants. As he reached to push them down, the nurse laughed gently and asked him what he was doing.
He shook his head as if to clear away the fog and zipped up his pants before stepping on the scale. The nurse glanced at me with a question in her eyes. I shrugged while shaking my head. My expression clearly said, “It’s just one of those days.”
In the examining room, his blood pressure was taken. I saw the nurse’s concern and asked what it was. 108/47 and his pulse was 49… still too low. The doctor came in and did the biopsy on his cheek. When he finished, he cauterized it. When he was finished he looked over Dad’s hands and arms and decided to do a second biopsy on his wrist, he cauterized that one as well. With Dad’s bleeding history, he didn’t want to take any chances.


On the way home, Dad asked what we were supposed to do with Mom. I asked him what he wanted to do with her. “I really don’t know,” he replied. “I like having her in my room with me. But somehow, I think she is supposed to be buried. How am I supposed to know what to do?”
“Dad, you have to do whatever feels right to you. And you don’t have to decide today. It’s all paid for, so whenever you want to, we can bury her. And if you want her with you, that’s ok, too. I promise, if that’s what you want, I will bury you both at the same time.”
He looked at me as relief washed over his face. “Then I won’t decide today,” he declared as he sat back lost in thought for the rest of the ride.


After dinner, I changed the dressings on Dad’s arm, and on his biopsy sites. I was relieved to finally see signs of healing (after only 10 days this time). As I rose from the table to throw away the mountain of trash that accompanies dressing changes, Cameryn came running into the room.
“Nonni, G’dad said don’t put anything away. Jordyn cut his foot really bad and you got to bandage him up when he’s done washing it.”
I hurried to the bathroom to find Jordyn running water on his bloody foot. As soon as it was clean, we headed for the dining room table to bandage him up. I assessed the cut, knowing he needed stitches but positive I could steri-strip it and he would be fine. I was right so it didn’t take long to patch him up.
As soon as I finished with him, I noticed Ayla curled up in a chair in the living room. I asked her if she was sleepy. She shook her head no and made a funny sound. I looked up at Melissa who asked if she was ok. The words were barely out of her mouth before Ayla threw up all over the chair. Thankfully, it turned out to just be an upset stomach and she has been fine since. Wow, what a night…

Here We Go Again... And Again

We went to the doctor yesterday for a follow up on Dad’s light-headedness, low blood pressure and heart rate, and dizzy spells. I also wanted his arm checked out because I have been unable to completely stop the bleeding. I was reassured to hear I had done a good job debriding it and to keep doing the same stuff we always do with these types of injuries.
In light of the pain in the back of Dad’s head, the doctor was once again referring us to the Neurologist. The dizzy spells could be a symptom instead of a side-effect.
We went over his medications again, cutting several more in half. The biggest change for Dad would be cutting back his Trazodone from a whole to a half. (Trazodone is an antidepressant medication. It is thought to increase the activity of one of the brain chemicals (serotonin) which may become unbalanced and cause depression.
Read more: http://www.drugs.com/trazodone.html#ixzz0nv80eUx2.) It can be very useful for the treatment of sleeplessness. As we learned last night, Dad is not ready for a change on this medication.

Dad took his meds at dinner as usual. He was feeling off-kilter throughout dinner. My sister-in-law, Susan, and I left to go pick up Dad’s prescription. When Dad finished his dinner, he told Richard he was tired and going to bed (even though it was barely 7:30 and still quite light outside).
We got back just before dark. I went to check on Dad. His night light was off (which is highly unusual) so I leaned down and turned it on, which woke him up. I assured him it was “just me” and approached the bed. He was lying on top of the made bed without a shirt on.
I held out my hand. “I need your patch,” I pointed out.
“I took it off,” he replied automatically. His hand slid over his bare chest until he discovered the patch still firmly in place. “No, I didn’t.” He removed it and handed it to me.
I showed him that I had his credit card and said I would put it in his wallet. He nodded.
“Dad, are you ok?”
“I was feeling flukie at dinner so I decided it was a good idea to go to bed.”
“Flukie how?” I asked as I came back to stand beside him.
“I don’t know,” he couldn’t explain it. “Just flukie.”
“Dad, does your head or neck hurt?”
“No, I just don’t feel quite right… you know… I just feel kind of flukie.”
We were obviously getting nowhere with this conversation. I bent down and kissed his cheek. “If you get up, use your walker,” I reminded him. Please, Dad, I’m trying to keep you safe. I need you to help me. I need you around here.” He patted my hand and told me goodnight then closed his eyes.

I went back downstairs to hang out on our porch with Richard and Susan. About 30 minutes later, Susan went up to the kitchen for ice. She stepped out the kitchen door, closed it behind her and headed down the outside stairs.
She only made it a few steps down when the door flew open and Dad leaned out. “Susan! Susan! Did you hear me calling you???”
Susan froze on the stairs without turning around. “Yes, Dad. I did,” she replied with a sigh.
“You need to get back in here. Go in that room and go to bed!”
In her soft little singsong voice, she said, “Well, Dad… I’m hanging out down here with Richard and Shari right now. We are talking and visiting.”
His anger was palpable as she resumed her descent once more. “You don’t need to be hanging out,” he spat. “Our neighbors aren’t use to people behaving like this. Carrying on and making noise til all hours. These are decent hard working people in this neighborhood. They don’t like to be disturbed.”

Please note, it wasn’t even 9:30 yet and we had just been sitting around talking. We didn’t even have music playing. The bottom line was, Dad couldn’t sleep and the dementia was winding him up. As he closed the kitchen door, still mumbling, I made a decision. I told Richard I would be right back. I headed up the stairs and into the kitchen. As soon as I stepped inside I asked him, “Where is your walker, Dad?”
His glare softened as he looked at me. “In the bedroom. I forgot it again. But I can’t sleep with all this going on.”
I slowly began guiding him across the kitchen. I could feel his agitation bristling in his muscles. He stopped short and turned to me. “How many people are here right now?”
“6” I replied.
“You and me are 2. Richard and her are 2. Who else? That’s only 4.”
“Jordyn and Cameryn make 6,” I pointed out. Jeremy was at work so I deliberately left him out of my count. I knew where this was headed. We have been through this so many times before.
“Now, listen to me,” he implored me. “And don’t go setting pissed off. You always get pissed off when I say this.” I nodded but kept my silence. Here it comes…
“There are too many people in this house. We shouldn’t be doing anything that can draw our neighbors attention to us. They are all millionaires and they just aren’t use to a lot of noise and people running around. If we piss them off,they are going to go to the Board (Homeowner’s Association) and we are going to get thrown out of here. There are too many people here! I am just trying to make sure we don’t lose our house! Nobody wants to listen to me. You all think I’m just a crazy old man…”
I slowly counted to 10 so I would remain patient and quietly said, “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dad.” I let that sink in and asked, “Dad, when you and Mom brought your kids here weren’t there 7 of you in a house?”
“Hell,” he answered. “There were usually 10 or 12 of us. Friends of the kids, friends of ours…”
I felt him beginning to drift into old memories. I touched his arm softly and drew him back to the present.
“Was it a problem to have that many people in the house?”
“No,” he reluctantly admitted.
“Then I guess I just don’t understand what the problem is.” I handed him ½ a Trazodone and a glass of water.
He took it from me and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed it up and swallowed it, he thanked me. He said somewhat apologetically that he must have forgotten to have taken it.
“No, Dad. Dr. Hight wanted you to try taking half of your sleeping pill but that’s just not going to work tonight. You are cranky and I’m just trying to help you get some sleep. You look worn out.”
He hugged me and turned back to shuffle off to his room. I followed him closely watching him carefully for any signs of unsteadiness.
I got him settled into bed again… and reminded him to use the walker if he got up again… and kissed him goodnight again… and I told him I loved him again… and he thanked me again…
And today we will begin it all over again…

Dreams

May 13, 2010

My dreams were filled with her last night. They were random dreams that seemed to go on forever. They seemed so real I could feel her touch, see her smile, hear her voice. And as I dreamed, I experienced an exorbitant sense of longing, a prevailing sadness tied me to the realization that she is gone.

We were in an unbelievably beautiful garden. She came to me and beckoned me to sit down beside her on a stone bench. When we were seated, she took my hand in hers. We stared into one another’s eyes until I had to turn my head and break the gaze that I felt could see into my soul.
“He loves you very much, you know.”
My mind instantly registered the strength of her voice. There was no struggle to breathe now. I turned back to face her.
“It’s up to you to take care of him. He’s got to find something to DO. He doesn’t go fishing anymore…Get Jeremy to take him. He doesn’t read anymore. He used to love to read. All he does is watch TV without the sound or sit around and try to remember me.
“Mom,” I wondered how many times I had said these words to her when she was alive. “Dad quit fishing because he was terrified to leave you at the house alone. Now, he is afraid that something will happen to him and he will be too far from help if he needs it..
He quit reading because the Alzheimer’s made him forget what he was reading as soon as he read it. What can I do to help him?” I implored her.
She touched my cheek lovingly. “Keep loving him. Keep bringing the babies around. Breathe life into him. Keep finding things for him to do. Make him help you around the house more. Make him live!
He is frustrated because he can only hold on to certain memories and most of those are old memories. You have to help him remember… and help him forget.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Help him forget what?” I cried out to her.
“The bad parts. Help him forget the pain of watching me die. Remind him I am no longer in pain!
Help him forget that pain he feels because I am no longer by his side. Remind him I am always with him, a part of him.
I know it’s a lot to ask but he loves you and he will listen to you.”

I heard a bird singing in the distance somewhere. The smell of the flowers assaulted me… Jasmine, Gardenias, Roses, Sweet Olive, Magnolia, Honeysuckle, Lavender, Hibiscus, Lilies, Lilac, Wisteria, Daisies, Camellias, Azaleas, Dogwood…
As I looked around me, I became aware of a humming. I focused on the tune. “I come to the garden alone… while the dew is still on the roses…”
Instantly, I realized the garden we sat in was HER garden. I was astonished by what she had accomplished in such a short period of time.
She reached for my hand again and gave it a small squeeze. “I am with you, too. Always…”

The scene spun away and suddenly, I was in the living room watching the muted TV with Dad. As I glanced at him, I saw her standing behind his recliner. She had her hand on his shoulder and she smiled.


The scene spun away and suddenly, we were around the dinner table. Everyone was talking and laughing as they ate. Everyone, that is, but Dad. She appeared again, standing behind him, her hand upon his shoulder. As I watched, she gently placed a kiss on his temple. He immediately reached a hand up to brush at the spot.
I marveled that he felt her touch.

The scene spun away and suddenly, I was in the kitchen. She was standing at the sinking looking out the window at the lake. Without turning toward me she said softly, “We need more birdseed.”

The scene spun away and suddenly, we were back in the garden. This time we stood by a peacefully gurgling fountain. We stood there for a moment, holding hands before she said, “I am always with you all. He has to understand… When it is time, which it is not yet, I will be right here waiting for him!”

The Remote Control and The Card

May 10, 2010

Yesterday was... interesting. Dad realized the remote control for his TV was missing and began tearing things up looking for it. As they day wore on, he began to get more agitated about it. He insisted he didn't want to accuse anybody of stealing it, but...
Over the course of several hours, everybody searched the house for it. Dad was convinced one of the boys had laid it down somewhere. I, myself, knew Dad had hidden it somewhere long before the boys got home from school. I searched every hiding place of dad's that I currently know about with no luck.
At some point after dinner, I had a thought. I ran upstairs to Dad's room and began searching through the bedding again. It suddenly occurred to me that when I had quickly looked there earlier, I hadn't really moved the bedding. When I lifted Dad's pillows... there it was!!! Tucked away safely, in a place no one but him could have put it was the missing remote.
I snatched it up and headed down the hall yelling, "Dad, I'm going to strangle you!"
I walked across the room. "Dad, you owe the boys an apology," I said as I handed it to him.
He shook his head, "Where was it?"
"Under your pillow."
"I'm not apologizing," He shook his head again. "Next time it might really be them."
He held out his arms si I bent down to receive his hug. "Thank you, Sweetheart. I'm sorry I make mistakes. I wonder how it got under there?"



Another thing that happened yesterday was a surprise for me. Jeremy, Susan and I were all outside watching the kids play when a delivery van pulled into the driveway. The lady gets out and takes a beautiful basket of flowers out of the back. She asks for me. I accept them and remove the card. They are from my friend, Amy. The card reads, "Hope these cheer you up... You've been through so much lately...Know that you are loved by so many:)Have a great day!! Amy.
I was blown away. What a thoughtful and sweet thing to do. Not to mention, I think the last time flowers were delivered to me I had just had a baby (LOL)! It is a random act of kindness that touched me deeply. I carried them up to show Dad. We discussed how lovely they were and then how much Mom had loved having fresh flowers in the house. I put them on the coffee table where Dad could see them from his chair. I put the card in my pocket as I went back outside to check on the kids.

When I went back inside to check on Dad, I stopped to smell my flowers. I burst out laughing when I noticed there was once again a card in the holder... and it was addressed to Dad. The whole family got a kick out of it. And when Dad was certain everybody had seen it, he removed the card.

This morning, he noticed the card lying on the table next to the flowers. He picked it up and read it before announcing he had found a sympathy card he hadn't seen before now.


May 11, 2010

Today, Dad got fixated on his impending appointment with his attorney. He pulled out his will and power of attorney and every other paper he could think of that the lawyer might need. He demanded Richard take him to the bank so he could get the Deed to the house out (the lawyer actually does need that). Then he spent the entire afternoon and evening shuffling the papers all over his desk. I can't remember the last time anything has held his attention that long.
He would pull all the documents out, one by one, and read them. Then he would straighten them up, put them back in their portfolio and zip it closed. He would slip it into the desk drawer. Within minutes he would pull it back out and start over again. Or, he would arrange them (with a method known only to him) all over the desk top only to pick them up and do it again.
When he went to bed tonight, he made Richard promise not to touch them. He wants to get them ready in the morning. Meanwhile, it is all strewn over his desktop and the drawers are standing wide open. I hope he remembers making the mess in the morning. Otherwise, he will accuse somebody of snooping and tomorrow culd get pretty rough. Oh well, we will see...