4

 

David has been invited to play golf at a private club, which means no greens fees for him. He looked so good in his fitted Bonobos golf pants, I almost waylaid him. At six-feet and one-hundred eighty pounds, he’s in great shape. He has that lean but muscular athletic build and a confident way of carrying himself that denotes decades of playing sports. His forest-green eyes were enhanced by the emerald green of his polo shirt, and I almost got lost in them. When he took off his golf cap and brushed his hand through his light brown hair and aimed his megawatt white smile at me, I fairly swooned. It’s amazing that after twenty-two years of marriage, I’m still smitten with my handsome hubby.

After a sweet kiss, he left with a wish for me to give his best regards to Anna, Dad’s “girlfriend.” She’s not really his girlfriend, but I would never tell Dad that. Fantasy can be a nice place to dwell, and I’m not about to kick him out of there.

Anna is a beautiful, and I mean beautiful, CNA whom I hired for daily visits with Dad during a three-week period when times were still good and David and I were in Europe. She’s Dad’s dream girl. Though she’s a knockout, it’s her sweet personality and loving nature that have him enthralled. She “loves on him” as he calls it, and several times he has boldly proposed marriage. Yes, he loves Mother still, but he’s also just a man, and one with dementia at that. He can’t be faulted for his attraction to a beautiful, sweet woman who holds his hand and kisses his cheeks and smooths his hair and tells him how handsome he is.

Anna is more affectionate than most caregivers, but as she has told me so many times, “Joe is just so loveable.” She actually has a handsome, long-time boyfriend, but she never mentions him around Dad. She has all the right instincts.

After we returned from Europe, we kept her employed as a part-time companion to Dad. She even became our live-in dog sitter when we traveled to see members of my or David’s family, while still spending time with Dad three days a week at Crestview. Anna became an important part of all our lives, and I am sorry I’ll never again have the luxury of her own brand of caregiving for my loved ones.

When she drives up, Nick meets her in the driveway and does his doggie dance of greeting before shamelessly throwing himself over and offering up his belly. His eyes roll back in his head and his tongue lolls to the side as Anna obliges. When she stands up, he stands up with her, retrieves a nearby ball, and offers it to her.

I’m the mean mommy when I say, “Not now, Nick,” because I know her time is limited. More than that, Dad’s eager to see Anna.

Nick looks mighty disheartened as he lets the ball drop from his mouth. I rub his head and give him an apologetic kiss.

He follows Anna and me into the garage but stops at Dad’s door. “You can come in here with me, Nick.” Anna waves her hand to indicate he should follow her into Dad’s apartment. Nick looks at me for permission, but I shake my head and tell him to stay. Another dispirited look. I hate being the mean mommy.

I tell Anna why Nick can’t go in. She nods in understanding and says, “I hope that changes. They’d be good for each other.”

I give her a conspiratorial wink. “Maybe you can whisper that in Dad’s ear.”

She laughs and tells me she’ll work on it. “Joe!” she exclaims as we walk into Dad’s apartment. He’s sitting in his lift chair, looking dapper, and he knows it. His pretty blue eyes light up at the sight of her. Carmen and I really spiffed him up this morning.

On Carmen’s third day, I noticed she was taking a long time to shave Dad, so I told her it was something I wanted to do for him. I take real pleasure in shaving him and combing his freshly-washed hair each day. But today I took extra care to banish every single whisker, and instead of just combing his thick silver hair, I blow-dried it so it’s full and shiny. When I gave him a choice between two of his aftershaves, he pointed to the Armani Code bottle and said confidently, “That’s her favorite.” He really surprises me at times with the wisps of memory that cling long enough for him to be decisive.

His smile is openhearted, and he stares at Anna like she’s a glass of cool water in an arid desert. He lifts his arms for a hug, and as she obliges, his eyes close and a sigh seeps out. She pulls away, but Dad’s arms are still outstretched, lonesome in the emptiness of the air that fills the space she vacated. They lower with the semblance of sinking balloons.

Anna doesn’t notice because she’s crossing the room to grab a chair. She sits next to him and takes his hands in hers. “You’re looking so handsome today.” Her silky raven hair falls forward as she leans in and subtly inhales his lingering fragrance. “And oh, my, you’re wearing my favorite cologne.”

Wow, Anna’s flirting packs a punch. No wonder he’s enraptured.

It’s a shame that our financial situation doesn’t allow for the luxury of Anna’s full-time companionship, because she has a gift for making Dad feel special. I told her most of the truth of our situation, accompanied by apologies that I could no longer employ her. She was sympathetic, but she was also distressed and sad. She has another part-time job as an aide to an elderly woman, but she needed this job, too. I offered to do anything I could to help her, but, being Anna, she found a job the following week on her own.

I so appreciate her being here on a Saturday, her day off, in the capacity of a friend. I can use the break and Dad can use the company.

“You look beautiful, honey. I’ve missed you.” Dad’s eyes roam her face, taking in all its fine details. He asks her where she’s been.

She glances at me over her shoulder, and I shrug. Let her tell him whatever she thinks is best. She knows him well.

“I got a new job,” she says, “and I just can’t get the time off to visit every other day like I did before.”

Good answer, Anna.

Dad looks momentarily deflated, but his interest in her is genuine. “What’s your new job?”

“I’m working in a doctor’s office,” she enthuses, “and I’m making good money and learning new things.”

As is so often true, Dad pauses to processes this. Sometimes when I’m waiting for an answer, I get annoyed, but then realize all over again that it’s remarkable that he can still process at all. “That’s good for you, then.”

“It is good for me, Joe. The only thing that’s bad about it is I can’t visit with you as often.”

“I understand, honey.” He’s squeezing her hands, reassuring her it’s okay.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Anna,” I interject. “I made lunch if you have time to stay.”

“What do you think, Joe? Do you mind if we have lunch together?”

“You may not want to eat Rachel’s cooking,” Dad says, grinning at his ongoing joke.

I make a mock protest, then say, “We have deli chicken salad, Anna, so there’s no chance of food poisoning.”

“Sounds good.” Anna looks at Dad. “Does that sound good to you, Joe?” As always, she’s solicitous without being patronizing. Another of her charms.

I return bearing a tray with plates of chicken salad on a bed of lettuce, with fresh cantaloupe and grapes on the side. She’s already put Dad in his wheelchair and pushed him up to the table. Of course she has. She’s an experienced CNA who didn’t have to think twice about such efficiency.

As she puts a bib around his neck, she lays soft kisses on the top of his head and whispers words of endearment. Her affection is nutrition for Dad’s soul, and he’s lapping it up.

The placemats, cutlery and napkins are on the table. She’s cutting the cantaloupe into even smaller pieces when she asks me, “You gave him his Sinemet?”

I smile and nod. “Right before you got here.” I head into the kitchenette to grab two glasses with ice for their diet colas. I don’t mind that she questioned me. She has had to cope with Dad’s dysphagia a few times herself. Though she’s never given Dad his meds, she cared enough to learn what they were and what they did for him. She’s quite intelligent, and it’s a shame she could never afford to go to nursing school, as she’d wanted to do.

“I’m going to leave you two to visit. Let me know if you want anything. I have some key lime pie upstairs for dessert. Just call me on the intercom when you’re ready for it, and I’ll bring it down and join you.” It’s a sugar-free pie, made with Stevia, from a recipe I found in a diabetic cookbook. I have no idea how it’s going to taste, but since I plan to join them for dessert, I’ll find out.

But then, it really doesn’t matter. Anna has already provided all the sweetness Dad will need today.