I recognize Dad’s voice as I exit the elevator. He’s reading a Christmas story to the ninth-floor seniors. Some are slumped in wheelchairs. A few are asleep, resting their foreheads on the table in front of them. Dad’s holding court, so to speak, because he’s king. He told me so a few days after he … Continue reading Treasured connections
dementia
Thursdays with Dad
Let’s make sure we bring Kleenex, I say to Dad as we prepare for choir practice. “Why?” he asks. Because you’re going to cry. “How do you know?” he asks. Because you always do, I say. When we started singing in the Latvian seniors’ choir, Dad would laugh and tell me there’s no way I … Continue reading Thursdays with Dad
Haircuts and potato wedges
It happens like this. She cuts his hair and they talk, just like any barber and customer. Except this is grandfather and granddaughter, they’re in the bathroom, and this is the closest they get these days. Imants Ziedonis said it best: Stroke a silver head. Grandmother, grandfather, uncle when he’s sick. And he’ll begin to … Continue reading Haircuts and potato wedges
Postcards from my brain 