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| 9 x 12 on recycled Pastelmat |
"Well, my kids decided that it was a good idea for me to live near one of them," my father told me today on the phone from Florida. We have had this conversation many times before. I am one of his kids. He forgets that sometimes. I helped him move last year from Southern California to an assisted living facility in Tampa Bay, to be near my brother and his family.
Dad forgets a lot of things. It's a sad part of dementia. Some days I can laugh off the absurdities. Some days I just feel sad. Today was one of those days. When my tears start, I try to end the conversation quickly.
"I love you, Dad. I'll talk to you soon."
"I love you, too, honey. I always love to hear the sound of your voice." He is completely sincere. But, he will not remember that I called when he talks to my brother just a few minutes later.
