My Father Is Disappearing

I try to call my dad every few days. Lately it requires a deep breath before I make the call. I never know exactly how he'll sound, at least not anymore.

Back in the early summer, I began to notice some things that just seemed...different. He would say something, and although I never thought, "Huh, something is really wrong," I did think, "Huh."

My confusion about my dad's state gathered steam when we all went to the beach with my brother's family. My dad didn't pack one change of clothes. He forgot his wallet. He dozed in the chair much of the day. And he said some things that were a bit more...honest (?) than usual. We began to believe something wasn't quite right.

It took some more incidents that didn't add up and some doctor visits to determine that my father has something called vascular dementia, or white matter disease. Sometimes he seems like the same old dad, but mostly he doesn't.

I am so sad that we are done knowing my father as my father. That my kids can no longer know the real McCoy. He's there. It's partly him, but not totally. The older boys are old enough to fully understand the situation, and the youngest is young enough to be utterly clueless, and I am grateful for this. But to watch someone's very person deteriorate, as opposed to watching their body deteriorate, is really quite tragic. I watched my mom die of cancer over the course of three weeks, and honestly I think I'd prefer that.