"I came to see you," I said. "I always come to see you."
"Yeah?" He smiled. "That's good to hear."
And he didn't pass up an opportunity (he never does *grin*) to have his picture taken with a pretty lady.
|Dad and Lori, the Director of the home|
where Dad lives.
I tell people that I'm always exhausted after a visit with my Dad. Part of the reason is that it takes so much energy to stay focused on his speech, to try to understand him enough to have a conversation with him. Communication is a basic human need, but it's getting harder and harder for Dad to find the words and to know how to use them. But we try. God, how we try.
The saddest part is, though, that very often he is aware of how bad his speech and thinking have gotten. That seems the cruelest thing of all, and it breaks my heart.
At the end of my visit, he said, "Well, I enjoyed our talk."
Me, too, Dad. Me, too.