The "A" word

My Mum said it today so it must be real. I don't want to think about it but I suppose I'll have to wrap my already battered and bruised heart around it eventually.

They called it "mild cognitive impairment" to start with. A few lapses here and there, becoming more and more frequent. Ask him to go out for milk and he comes back with bread.

My dad's short term memory is shot to pieces.

They say he is developing Altzheimer's.

He's 77 and we are going to lose him bit by bit, memory by memory.

Today he was cheerful and joking about the past. The past is clearer to him than the present. He remembers that I was a "good" baby who didn't cry too much, and if you ask he will tell the story of how he used to feed me and when I'd had enough I would whip my head around so fast that the food would go in my ear. Or the story of how he taught the dog to play the piano. Or how he used to scare me and my brother silly by reading "The three billy goats gruff" and "Little red riding hood." How he would get to the scary bit and turn the page oh-so-very-slowly and we would sink lower into the sofa and squeal with terrified delight. He can't remember any more that I don't take sugar in my tea.

Tomorrow we are taking my parents with us on my birthday adventure. We want them to have some good times.

I feel selfish but I want him to meet a grandchild before he leaves us and I want to walk down an aisle on his arm (must start planning our wedding!).

My Mum bought some videos from a market,
"I bought Fatal Attraction for your father."
"Well I don't think you have to worry about that kind of thing these days now do you"
"Ah, there's no harm in reminding him".
You have to giggle sometimes or the worries of the world will just suck you down.

Fathers day 2006, when we joked about "senior moments", before I met and fell in love with Ray, before we became members of the dead baby club. When I could still laugh so much that my sides hurt and my belly ached.

Ray put it perfectly. "Your dad is such a gentle soul..."