Visiting Dad Again

Dad is usually asleep when I arrive, lying on his back with his toothless mouth agape. He looks like a corpse. I check his breathing--it is shallow. I identify myself and try to wake him, but he does not hear--he is almost entirely deaf. Even if he does awaken, he cannot really see me--he is almost entirely blind. He rarely speaks because he does not remember words--he has Alzheimer's.

I sit beside him for a while and hold his hand. I notice that his hair has finally turned gray.

My strong, vital father is a frail old man. He will be ninety-five on his next birthday. I no longer pray that his life may be long.