Daddies and Little Girls

After falling out of the bed this morning, I figured my day was off to an interesting start. Then the phone started ringing and it was my mom, with my weekly dose of guilt.
"Your sister went out to see your daddy yesterday and he asked her when she had seen you."
"He did?"
"Yeah, and then later she heard him ask his wife what your sister had said about whether or not she had seen you."

He has Alzheimer's. Sometimes he knows me. Sometimes he doesn't. The last time I went, he had no idea who I was. But since I flaked out on the birthday party, I decided mom had made me sufficiently guilty to go out there.

I had a million excuses not to go. Sore throat. Need to straighten up the house. Laundry. Etc.
Cathy would be proud. I left all that and got into the car. I drove an hour or so and pulled into the driveway. He was standing in the doorway, and I think he knew who I was.

We sat at the table. I told him about my kids and their lives. Several times he asked, "Who?"
I told him about my husband and how he was. He had no idea who he was. (He's only met him once.) So then I ran out of things to say.

He began. He told me stories of when he was a boy, and how he helped to pay off his parent's house by growing cotton. It was a very interesting story. He told me how much he planted, how much he paid the "n" word people to pick it. (He uses that word regularly as part of his normal conversation.) He told me how if they didn't pick 300 pounds a day, he didn't bring them back, he'd get other "n's" to pick it. Then he told me how much money he made. How he helped pay off his parent's house. (They had bought 142 acres and a huge two story white house with a wraparound porch for $6000) He told me how much money he made at his first job, and how he invested it. He told me how much interest he was earning and how he always saved. He told me about his brother who he had no respect for because he never wanted to work hard enough to make money. He then asked how my kids were with money. (Fine, Daddy. We're all fine.) We talked money for six hours. Money is his passion in life. Always was. Came before anyone or anything.

I listened, and I was actually interested in some of the historical stuff. It is amazing how much he can recall once he gets the story going. It's just drawing up the memory that is the hard part.

He looked very thin. He didn't look very old. Not to me. He just looked like Daddy.
Then he went outside for a minute and my step-mother said that he thinks I don't love him because I never come out there. I tried to explain to her why, and she said I must have inherited that, because he never wants to leave the house to go anywhere either, and hates crowds, or groups of people at get-togethers. In fact, she said, she tricked him into coming to that reunion thing I missed, because if she had told him where they were going, he would have refused to go. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

I told them my husband is having surgery Thursday, but when he gets better, I'll come back. He said, "Who is having surgery? Who is she talking about?"

I said, "Give me a hug. I have to go home. I do love you. I'll come back soon."

He stood there in the driveway and I looked back at him before I drove away. He looks pitiful. He looks lonely. He looked empty. He looks like I feel.

I am going to try to go back. I wondered as I pulled away today if this would be the last time I'd see him. I wonder that every time I go. I even choose my words carefully.
We even talked about dying. I told him I wasn't afraid to die. He said he was.

My step-mom says he never goes to church with me anymore. I said, "I never knew he ever had." She said that yes, for a time he had gone with her. That was news to me. He never went when I was growing up.

I didn't tell them anything about my life or about me. I don't know of anything I could say at this point that would help him to KNOW me. It was very strange today. On one hand he is so familiar. On the other hand, he seems like a complete stranger. But somehow, I think today was good for both of us.