ask Sam.
“Swell,” said Sam, taking in the room with slow, deliberate head turns. “It’s going to cost me a bundle, so I’m glad you like it.”
“I sure do,” said Eileen, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch while Ann gives me a tour.”
“I wouldn’t mind having the grand tour myself,” said Sam.
“And you shall have it,” said Eileen. “I just need to use the powder room.”
“Oh well,” said Sam, sitting down hard on the couch.
Ann waved her mother into the bedroom, half-closed the door behind them, and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Mom,” she said, “Dad didn’t recognize me.”
“Don’t worry about that, dear,” said Eileen, rubbing her daughter’s arm. “He’s like that sometimes, especially after a long day. He mixes me up with his mother, of all people.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” asked Ann. “It happened on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and it’s happening again.”
Eileen took a deep breath, sucking in her stomach, and then slowly exhaled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it at first. As I’ve told you, when you live with someone, change is gradual. It wasn’t until summertime that he really started going downhill.”
“He seems pretty close to the bottom of the hill,” said Ann. “I wish I had known.”
“And what could you have done, Ann? This is not a solvable problem. This is permanent.”
Ann lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“It’s just rotten luck,” said Eileen. “Nothing more than that.”
“And you’ve been handling this, handling him on your own, for the last six months.”
“Not anymore,” said Eileen, brushing away the stray gray strands of hair from her forehead with her fingers. “I can’t do it anymore. And that’s why I called Meadowbrook. When I talked to them in July, they said they’d be able to take us before Christmas. I figured I could take care of your dad until then. I’ve been doing it for forty-eight years.”
Ann put her hands on her hips. “Have you had any help?”
“Here and there,” said Eileen, looking out the glass sliding door at the woods behind the house. “Our friends have been wonderful. For the most part, we’ve just been doing less. He’s best at home.”
“How did you get out, to get groceries, or get your hair cut?” asked Ann.
“He went to day care when I needed some time off,” said Eileen. “But he’s been more agitated in the last month or so. Remember, I told you he tried to escape.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Ann, a searchlight in her brain, sweeping for the facts.
Eileen smiled slightly at her daughter. “We’ll be okay,” she said. “It’s so good to be here.”
“It’s good to have you here, Mom,” said Ann, accepting a hug.
“Now, let me use the bathroom and then we can get down to the business of unpacking. I never feel at home until my suitcase is empty.”
“The bathroom’s right there,” said Ann, pointing to a doorway in the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Ann walked back into the living room, where her father was tracing the plaid pattern on the couch with his right index finger. Ann lingered a moment, then moved quickly and quietly behind him to the kitchen. She moved as close to the stove as possible, so that her father couldn’t see her if he turned his head. She lifted the lid of the soup pot, closed her eyes, and inhaled.
“Now what smells so good?” said Eileen, a few minutes later, as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “I must be hungry.”
“Chicken noodle soup,” said Ann, again lifting the lid to show her mother the diced carrots, celery, and onion simmering around bite-sized pieces of chicken and egg noodles in a clear yellow broth.
“You were always a good cook,” said Eileen, “and you were sweet to make it—and to remember that
“Swell,” said Sam, taking in the room with slow, deliberate head turns. “It’s going to cost me a bundle, so I’m glad you like it.”
“I sure do,” said Eileen, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch while Ann gives me a tour.”
“I wouldn’t mind having the grand tour myself,” said Sam.
“And you shall have it,” said Eileen. “I just need to use the powder room.”
“Oh well,” said Sam, sitting down hard on the couch.
Ann waved her mother into the bedroom, half-closed the door behind them, and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Mom,” she said, “Dad didn’t recognize me.”
“Don’t worry about that, dear,” said Eileen, rubbing her daughter’s arm. “He’s like that sometimes, especially after a long day. He mixes me up with his mother, of all people.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” asked Ann. “It happened on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and it’s happening again.”
Eileen took a deep breath, sucking in her stomach, and then slowly exhaled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it at first. As I’ve told you, when you live with someone, change is gradual. It wasn’t until summertime that he really started going downhill.”
“He seems pretty close to the bottom of the hill,” said Ann. “I wish I had known.”
“And what could you have done, Ann? This is not a solvable problem. This is permanent.”
Ann lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“It’s just rotten luck,” said Eileen. “Nothing more than that.”
“And you’ve been handling this, handling him on your own, for the last six months.”
“Not anymore,” said Eileen, brushing away the stray gray strands of hair from her forehead with her fingers. “I can’t do it anymore. And that’s why I called Meadowbrook. When I talked to them in July, they said they’d be able to take us before Christmas. I figured I could take care of your dad until then. I’ve been doing it for forty-eight years.”
Ann put her hands on her hips. “Have you had any help?”
“Here and there,” said Eileen, looking out the glass sliding door at the woods behind the house. “Our friends have been wonderful. For the most part, we’ve just been doing less. He’s best at home.”
“How did you get out, to get groceries, or get your hair cut?” asked Ann.
“He went to day care when I needed some time off,” said Eileen. “But he’s been more agitated in the last month or so. Remember, I told you he tried to escape.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Ann, a searchlight in her brain, sweeping for the facts.
Eileen smiled slightly at her daughter. “We’ll be okay,” she said. “It’s so good to be here.”
“It’s good to have you here, Mom,” said Ann, accepting a hug.
“Now, let me use the bathroom and then we can get down to the business of unpacking. I never feel at home until my suitcase is empty.”
“The bathroom’s right there,” said Ann, pointing to a doorway in the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Ann walked back into the living room, where her father was tracing the plaid pattern on the couch with his right index finger. Ann lingered a moment, then moved quickly and quietly behind him to the kitchen. She moved as close to the stove as possible, so that her father couldn’t see her if he turned his head. She lifted the lid of the soup pot, closed her eyes, and inhaled.
“Now what smells so good?” said Eileen, a few minutes later, as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “I must be hungry.”
“Chicken noodle soup,” said Ann, again lifting the lid to show her mother the diced carrots, celery, and onion simmering around bite-sized pieces of chicken and egg noodles in a clear yellow broth.
“You were always a good cook,” said Eileen, “and you were sweet to make it—and to remember that
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