Ah, such a bittersweet day it was yesterday. Dad’s 89th birthday. Rare moments of following along with the conversation. Lots of quiet moments. Please indulge me the over abundance of photos. Love this man.
Notice my mom’s newly painted fingernails in this next photos. I love that she is still vain enough at 88 to want her nails to look pretty all the time.
My parents sat quietly a lot of the time. Mom just listening to the chatter of her kids and grandkids, Dad kind of lost in his own world with so much going on around him. My boys. I love them so much for coming out to Dad’s party. Doting on Mom. Telling her how nice her new room at the nursing home is. (She loved showing off her room to everyone) Talking to Dad. Hugging him. I have so much love for these boys and their wives, it makes my heart burst.
Dad is so quiet most of the time. Often, I’m not sure what he is taking in. What he hears and processes. Is he scared in his confusion?
He does better with one on one conversations, like here where Michael was trying to get Dad to start eating his cake. I’m pretty sure Dad had forgotten his piece of cake was there in front of him.
Mom, bless her heart, enjoyed a little sip of winey with her meal. She still enjoys her wine… That–strangely– makes me feel better about her…
This photo melts my heart. My dad laughing at the card the boys got for him. It was a card that kept unfolding until it became poster sized. It just tickled my dad.
Ah, that rare, rare Alzheimer’s smile. Nothing better in the world.
Below, he is looking at the photo book that we made him from scanned photos and slides that I found at their house. Photos of when he was growing up in Adair, Iowa. Trips he took with his parents. Photos of him in the Navy. Photos from when he was first married to Mom.
Here he is looking at the front photo on the book…a picture of the house he grew up in. “Hey, I know that place.” See the smile and recognition on his face?
I am enthralled with his hands here. I don’t know why. Here Dad is looking at a photo of his father.
If only we could have more moments of his smile. His recognition. The spark of life in his eyes. Ah, Alzheimer’s, you are a mean, mean beast and I hate what you’ve done to this kind, gentle man.
Happy 89th birthday, Dad. Not the life we had imagined for you for your “golden” years. So glad to still see your smile.