|Me, Dad, big Sis|
It seems all we have to do most days is bring Dad chocolate milk and he is happy. Friday, just as if he were drinking a fine wine, he pronounced his chocolate milk perfectly chilled. (Sounded like a commercial: We will drink no chocolate milk before it's time. *grin*)
His eyes are still bothering him, as you'll see in the video, but it's impossible to keep him from rubbing them. The medication the doctor gave him some weeks ago doesn't seem to help much.
In the midst of our lovely visit, Dad went to drink his milk and suddenly seemed unable to do it. He looked at the cup in his hand for a while, tried to remove a lid that wasn't there, then brought it close to his face, but tried to put it to his chin, then his cheek. I had to gently guide his hand until the cup was at his mouth, then tip it up for him. After that, he seemed to catch on. Alzheimer's doesn't let you forget for a minute that it is always present, always lurking.
Still, Dad had a really good day, and for that, we are thankful.
The following tale is entitled, "A Man and His (Chocolate) Milk":