This week will go by fast. My cousin and his wife will come for a visit this afternoon. Tomorrow Dad and I will plant herbs in my garden. We sign papers at the lawyer’s office on Wednesday, and I have the Alzheimer’s support group on Thursday.
Dad and I sat together yesterday to go over the legal paperwork. It’s all pretty straightforward since he doesn’t have any assets to distribute. The financial PoA is more of a formality since my brother and I are joint owners of his bank account. It’s the health directives that took time. Essentially Dad had to make decisions now, while he has most of his faculties, about what medical decisions he wants in the future. Does he want CPR? A feeding tube? A ventilator? At 87 years old, it may seem obvious, but Dad has also said he expects to live another seven years. Fortunately he didn’t have any hesitation in his decision. I need to get the same forms signed for my mother.
We went to a show yesterday at a theatre. It was a kind of a lecture. Dad took a nap before we left, but still slept through most of the show. Before the show and on the way home, Dad repeated himself multiple times and I felt well versed in practicing patience. I’m adulting.
At the theatre, I asked Dad to stand up and turn around so we could take a photo with the stage in the background. As Dad was standing there and I was sorting out my phone to take a selfie, a middle aged couple who had the seats in front of us arrived. Dad was holding on to the back of the seat in front of him to keep his balance and didn’t hear the man say “Excuse me.” I didn’t really notice either because Dad wasn’t being intrusive. But the man clearly had no patience and said very loudly, clearly annoyed, “Excuse me!” That startled both Dad and I and Dad apologized, but I was miffed. We took our photo but when I sat down I couldn’t shake the feeling that this middle aged fat white man was being rude on purpose. And he stole my joy out of the moment. I wanted it back, but couldn’t imagine telling that man how rude he was. But then, Dad finished his popcorn, and his plastic glass of water. “I’ll throw it away, Dad.” The man in front had his arm around the back of his partner’s chair, which was impeding me getting past him. So, while his attention was forward, I leaned in from behind, close to his ear, and did my best loud whisper, the kind I might have used in a concert, “Excuse me!” I didn’t wait to see his face because the jolt of his body told me I got the reaction that satisfied my need for revenge. I enjoyed the show just fine after that. Perhaps I still have more adulting to do.
Epilog 