Real Joe and the Conversation to Nowhere

What a marvelous week! No, Dad has not been accepted into the home yet. No, we didn't strike gold in the back yard. Something much more prosaic. When Dad moved into our home three years ago he was an unhappy camper. He couldn't drive anymore or handle his own money. There seemed very little, in fact, that he had control over in his life. His response (other than terrible 0utbursts of anger and a generally venomous attitude) was to grow a beard. He could control his face, and he did. It has been an ugly beard for 3 years. The grand kids had a look alike contest and he was voted most to look like Fidel Castro. A year and a half ago my beloved bride found a new barber to take him to and that made some improvement. That barber, against Dad's wishes, trimmed the beard at each haircut. "I'm never going back to him," he would fume each time, but since my bride was driving, he did go back and get a nice trim each time. It was a small improvement in an ugly beard, but it was an improvement. This week as he was getting his shower by the home health aide, she shaved him. WOW!!! The real Joe reappeared. My beloved bride had purchased him a whole new set of clothes, multiple shirts, sweaters, pants, etc. She tossed the old stuff he has been clinging to for the past three years. Now he looks spiffy. Marvelous! Oh, and while he is still demented, he doesn't look so demented anymore. He looks like a clean, neat and healthy 80 something man. Marvelous.

Outward appearances aside, he still has dementia and what is inside has not changed. Tonight my brother was over and they played cards together for 2 hours then my brother took Dad out to eat. That is the weekly routine. When they got home my brother had some pictures to show us of his grand kids. (Almost as cute as mine.) We stood around talking for about 40 minutes and the conversation took many twists and changed absolute directions multiple times. Dad was standing there listening, to use the term very loosely, and smiling at things that were said. That would be the normal interpretation of what was happening, but it wasn't really happening. What Dad was smiling about is anybody's guess.

After a few minutes he broke into the conversation with a question about our last name. No, we were not talking about anything like that at all. Since his original question had made no sense, I said, "What?" He asked again and I picked up what he was asking and answered him. The conversation with my brother and bride and myself went on. Five minutes later Dad again broke into the conversation with another question about our last name. Again, the question was unclear and after a "what" he asked again and again I answered him as the other conversation went on. Skip ahead five more minutes and it happened again. This time he was recalling a trip he had made to Europe and how he had found our last name in the phone book. Another unclear question and clarification and answer followed. All this time he is seemingly following our conversation, but he hasn't heard or understood a word. Not one. This went on until my brother left. It was the conversation to nowhere from nowhere in the midst of a completely different and ongoing conversation that lasted 4o minutes. He is now all bright on the outside, but the inside is still dimming rapidly. The outside this week is sunshine, marvelous sunshine. The inside is descent; the bulb dimming more every day. But he looks good. Marvelous!