Dad, in decline

The only thing more boring than watching golf on television is watching someone else watch golf on television, but that's how I spent a good part of the weekend. I'm in Florida helping to get my dad out of the hospital and into rehab, and I thought he would blow a gasket when he discovered that the hospital doesn't have the Golf Channel. But we finally found some golf coverage for him and saved the day.

I won't lie: it's hard to be here. It's hard to see Dad weak and confused and needing a shave, and it's hard to sit by helplessly as he tries to grapple with everything that's happening. Sometimes he can converse intelligently about his condition, but then an unexpected question throws him into confusion and he's convinced that it's just a little touch of gout. Sometimes he thinks I'm my mom, and then he gets distraught when it turns out I'm not. I'm tempted to go along with his delusion, but that gets awkward.

Last year at this time my brothers and I and some other family members and friends gathered at Dad's house to celebrate his 85th birthday; today we're trying to get him transported to a rehab facility out of state--close to my brother's house--and I'm not sure when he'll see his own home again (but don't tell him that). The house feels empty and sterile, as if it's settling down for a long lonely rest. If I work at it, I can hear echoes of voices, see ghosts of events: here's where Dad took all our prom photos, next to Mom's beloved rose bushes (now sadly neglected). Here's Dad's TV-watching chair, still untouchable even in his absence--and you'd better believe I still feel like a scofflaw every time I adjust the thermostat. Here's the room where I donned my wedding gown, and here's where my toddler daughter slammed straight into the glass door and cut her head. Here's the kitchen where we cooked so many meals and the table where we gathered to eat and share news and sometimes disagree (loudly), and here's the driveway where we so often said goodbye.

I'll say goodbye to the house again on Wednesday when I head back to Ohio, and I don't know when I'll set foot in this house again. I'm relieved to know that the house will be in good hands, and so will Dad, getting the help he needs in a place where his family can keep a closer eye on him. My brother had a sudden moment of panic yesterday when he realized that he hadn't checked to be sure that the rehab facility has televisions in the rooms, but sure enough they do. Now all we need is the Golf Channel and all will be well with the world.