Cliff's dad is 86. He's served our country in WWII, raised a family and is a man's man. He has Parkinson's and lately it's getting the better of his mind as he self admittedly says, "I'm going coo-coo."
I wish I would have known him in his spit fire days. He's been "sick" since I've been around but he always goes out of his way to make sure that I know that he's glad I am there. He squeezes my hand with love and says things that make me smile like "little lady," "golly" and "swell." I can always make him laugh and I am pretty sure he laughs even when he can't hear me all that great just to make me feel good. He always asks about my Mema and says to tell her hi. I love that. I love him.
He suffered a fall in November and broke his hip, had surgery, got an infection and landed in ICU and had another surgery because of the infection. He and Cliff chat daily and as I overhear their conversations I want to laugh and cry all at the same time. It's so sad when the roles of parent and child reverse.
The conversations usually go something like this:
No dad, you are not in a grocery store, you are at the hospital
do you know what hospital you are in?
That's right you used to volunteer there!
No dad, mom is not in the rv, we sold that years ago.
No dad it's not a grocery store, what did you want to buy?
You saw me doing what? You saw me building a house out your window? No dad I am not building a house. I love you pop.
He seems to be doing better these last few days. He is out of the hospital into the nursing home for a few weeks of physical therapy. It is going to be a long road for sure.
I don't want to get old and loose my mind but then again I guess no one does. Sigh.