No Visitors, Part Four: Orange Laces

My dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's five years ago and, in that time; I've probably changed as much as he has. I no longer call him the night before an election to ask which councilman I should vote for on the upcoming ballot. ”Go for the teachers and social workers and avoid lawyers and businessmen,” he'd advise. I don't wish for him to remember what I know he won't. I do, however, hope he's forgotten about the moment when everything changed and how I yelled at him.

I was the person with my dad the day it was clear that something was terribly wrong. We were standing in the middle of the driveway where I live and it was the hottest day of the year. We'd come from his place at the beach to my house—a forty-five minute drive. The plan we'd discussed for weeks was that he was going to stay at my house for a couple days while his condominium complex was being fumigated. We both drove our own cars back to my place and when he parked his car I noticed it was partially blocking the driveway so I told him to pull it up a few inches. He looked at me, puzzled. ”Why babe? I'm not staying long.”

The hours leading up to this were hard. He'd been preparing for the fumigation for months, attending the homeowner meetings in his complex and reporting back, “They say we gotta pack it up, babe! Termites or some other goddamn thing.” My sister and I had noticed that, with each recap of the previous talks about logistics while he had to be out of his place, he'd forget what had been planned. The day I went to his condo to help him finish up with wrapping food and making sure everything was prepared for the fumigation (“It's almost all done, babe!”) nothing had been done. I spent hours throwing food away and cleaning out his fridge. He was disheveled and confused. I was nauseous and terrified. 

“What the hell do we need to do this for?” he kept asking. I told him we were just making sure nothing got tainted from the fumigation. ”Go pack some clothes! You're coming to my house for two days.” I must have said this twenty times. Each time I'd tell him to pack, he'd wander into his room and come out, saying, “All set!” As we were getting ready to go, I reminded him to get his suitcase. He brought it out, partially zipped. I looked to make sure he'd packed enough clothes and found seven pairs of socks and one dress shirt.

So, standing in the driveway that day, I felt an overwhelming panic drop over me when he did not know why he as at my house. The panic felt like cement, glue. What I truly wanted to do was collapse into a heap and start sobbing. Instead, I got angry.

“Dad! What are you doing?” I raised my voice at him for the first time in our lives. “Do you know where you are or what’s happening?”

He looked down. ”No babe. I don't.” He laughed nervously, then looked at me and said he had no idea what was happening.