It's Daddio's 86th birthday today. I honestly thought he was older than that. It seems he should be.
We celebrated with sprinkle doughnuts and gingerbread men.
On my weekly visit we sit outside and read the local papers.
His nursing home is under the flight path of a small airport so we watch for planes. They get a bit too close for comfort for me but he loves them. He says that when he gets well he's going to be a pilot or an ambulance driver.
I knit socks while we chat about the stories he reads in the paper. For that short time it seems like he's the Dad I've always had. He never asks to come back home anymore. I think he's forgotten about home. The chaos of this home sadly suits him now.
I finished the Little Prince socks.
He said he was tired of seeing me knit them just as I finished them. Good timing. He was very impressed.
Back inside for dinner things are not so pleasant. His corner of the room is small, his roommate grumpy and the weird goings on of all the other patients is unsettling. The nurses and therapists always stop to ask me how I think he's doing. I always say "I don't know" because I really don't. There is a big disconnect now. I'm just an occasional observer. I'm no longer a participant in his life.
As far as nursing homes go, this one is clean and the staff is friendly in spite of having one of the hardest jobs in the world. If any politician ever complains about our immigration policy they should be required to work 30 days in a place like this. Every one of the people Daddio depends on came from somewhere else not that long ago. They are efficient, compassionate and willing to do the things I am no longer willing or able to do-and for that I am very grateful.
Happy birthday Daddio. If only...