Help Me Rhonda

I'm listening to "The Bold 1960's" on Pandora right now as I write this morning.  This is quite a change from my usual Nicki Minaj and Ke$ha mix.  I've been playing the oldies in the car in the afternoon with my dad as we drive around for errands in the hope that it will jog his memory.  Oh, so I hope.

I think I've come to a conclusion.  This blog isn't going to be about adventures on motorcycles, concoctions in the kitchen, or how I go psycho in my head at the supermarket deli.  I'm going to focus on my father's battle with vascular dementia for the time being.  Of course I won't be able to help but throw in the casual funny that happens here and there, or the odd thing from life in the classroom.  But my main crux in life right now, aside from the kidlets, is Dads.

The picture above with the cat and the flag is because my dad is a veteran.  Yeah, I know.  Lame attempt at including a photo with this entry.  Admit it, it breaks up the heaviness of this post!

Nearly every day I take Dads on an adventure somewhere.  Our adventures include the post office, the supermarket, and sometimes the dry cleaners.  When we have time, we go out for coffee.  I know people who know me aren't surprised, as I'll try to weasel my way in to get additional coffee any way I can.  Our coffee chat sessions will be a whole other blog post, as they include such topics as Men Who Have Treated His Daughter Badly And Are On His List, The State of the Union, Why He Likes Walmart, Your Kids Need to Cut the Lawn, and Are You Doing OK Kiddo?

We drive around Clemsville and Dads, as always, taps his knee to classics by the Beach Boys and the Beatles.  He has done this as long as I can remember.  He can recall where he was when he heard these songs fifty years ago, but has no idea where we are going.

"Are we going to the post office?"

"Yup, Dads.  And then Demoulas."

"Oh.  Do you need to go to the post office?"

I have the utmost patience with this.  Remember - I teach middle school, where kids lose pencils and cry about it.

The other day my mother sent us on a mission to the drugstore, CVS, to buy a certain type of aspirin.  Both he and I were befuddled.

"This it?  Coated?  Look at my sticky note."  I think Dads and I are the only people who refuse to call it a "post-it" and still call it a "sticky note."

"Um.  Yeah," I look at the box and nod my head in agreement.  Looks good to me.  Of course upon return back home we are both wrong.

Who has the dementia now?

Dads is with me through thick and thin.  One of my cats is sick.  She's drinking too much water, cuddling with me excessively at night, not moving much, and when you look at her you can just tell.  As I write this blog post she's sleeping in a box and I just thought she was dead.  I screamed out, "Lily!" twice and she finally put her head up.  I have been thinking about who will go with me if I do have to put her down.  It will be Dads.

Hopefully he will forget the whole moment...