25

 

The very air we breathe has changed. No doubt it’s augured by the invigorating autumn breeze that sweeps through our home now that we keep the windows open, but the magic in it is that it continually refreshes our recently-lightened souls. Our sense of well-being is restored, and we drink it in until we are intoxicated with the gratitude of living.

On this fine day in late September, right after Marcy leaves, I head down to Dad’s apartment to bring him up to the deck for lunch. The air is crisp, the sun is shining, and the leaves are vibrant with their oncoming change of color. I want to spend as much time as possible outdoors with him before winter comes.

His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are clenched. He’s in pain. “What’s wrong, Dad?” He shakes his head from side to side but doesn’t answer.

I look closer and see tears seeping out from beneath his eyelids. “You have soap in your eyes, don’t you?”

He nods, and I hurry into the bathroom and run warm water over a washcloth until it’s sopping wet and grab a towel to catch the drip. It is all so natural now just to do what needs doing, without any hesitancy or alarm.

I peel back one eyelid and squeeze plenty of water from the washcloth into his eye, then dab it with the towel. I do the other eye, then repeat the process until he opens his eyes, blinks a few times, and lets out a relieved, satisfied sigh.

His eyes are still red, so I put in some hydrating eye drops and catch them with the towel as they spill out from the corners of his eyes. I’m put out to think Marcy had gotten soap in his eyes and hadn’t even noticed his discomfort. In her defense, Dad rarely complains. But still.

It makes me wonder what would have happened if he had been at Crestview and had soap in his eyes. Would someone have noticed? Would they have done something about it? They took good care of him, but they also took care of dozens of other patients, and this was something that could have easily been misconstrued as just sleeping.

These are the most gratifying times—the times I know I’m taking care of him as well as possible, and maybe even better than the workers at Crestview. Comfort is such a simple premise, but it is a basic human need, and in Dad’s case, the absence of comfort exacerbates his anxiousness. I have tuned into Dad, and I know which dials to turn when something needs tweaking. I have become more intuitive and am trusting that intuition more and more.

“Are you okay now, Dad?”

He blinks several times and says, “Thanks, Sugar. That feels a lot better.”

“Good. Let’s go up on the deck now and have some lunch with David.”

“What are we having?”

“Let’s go find out.”

In the kitchen we find David making grilled cheese sandwiches. Nick stands close by, on high alert, no doubt hoping that David will notice him and slip him some cheese, or that something will hit the floor and it will be his. Either way, Nick believes his vigilance will pay off.

Though Dad and Nick are now comfortable being in the same room, they still haven’t formed any kind of bond. They’re still in a state of détente.

David has already set the table on the deck. Nice. He’s plating the sandwiches, so I grab a bag of chips and the pitcher of iced tea and head out the door. I leave Dad sitting in the kitchen, and Nick isn’t following me because there is still a human with a plate of food, and that requires all his attention.

David’s phone rings, and he doesn’t bother to put the plate of sandwiches down before reaching into his pocket. I’m coming back through the door just in time to hear his phone ring and witness the commotion that follows.

With his phone in one hand and the plate in the other, David is distracted, and when he makes a slight turn, he knocks into Nick and pitches forward. The plate bobbles, and there is no way it isn’t going to hit the floor.

When it does, it makes a loud clatter, but because it’s melamine, it doesn’t break. I hear Dad yell, “Hey, hey, he’s eating our lunch!” while at the same time I hear David exclaim, “Sorry, I’ll have to call you back!”

Nick is indeed wolfing down our lunch. I start to yell at him to stop, but I know it’s useless. He’s involved, really involved, in making the five grilled cheese sandwiches disappear as quickly as possible, knowing that if he hesitates, one or two sandwiches might get snatched away. You simply cannot stop a Labrador from vacuuming up food once that switch is turned on.

David and I look at each other and start to laugh. When Dad joins in, our laughter escalates until we are all doubled over. Nick is now scouring for crumbs, oblivious to our hysterics.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Dad says, still laughing. “That dog cleaned the floor in ten seconds flat!”

We all burst into laughter again, and now Nick does look up. He looks from David to me, and then he looks at Dad. And I swear, I swear, he’s laughing with us. I know it’s so when Dad says, “Look at him! Look at him! He’s laughing too, that rascal!”

 

 

David starts over in making sandwiches, and to fend off Dad’s hunger I give him the bag of the chips I’ve retrieved from outside. Nick is lying contentedly on his bed in the kitchen, only a few feet from Dad.

The wheelchair is turned at an angle so Dad can watch Nick from the corner of his eye. He munches the potato chips, seemingly happy to be in the midst of the activity. I’m responding to a couple of emails on my iPhone, so it is by sheer happenstance that I glance up to see Dad toss a potato chip toward Nick. I start to ask him not to do that, to tell him that Nick has had plenty to eat already, but I’m curious to see how this will play out. Could food be the glue that ultimately bonds them?

David’s back is to us, but I don’t want to say or do anything that might alter what happens next, so I keep quiet—although I wish he could see this.

Nick’s head comes up and his eyes zero in on the potato chip. I’m sure it’s only because he is full beyond full that he doesn’t gobble it down immediately, but I also think he’s confused. He looks up at Dad, and sure enough, I can see the question in his eyes.

Dad chuckles low and whispers to Nick, “Go ahead.”

Nick doesn’t have to be told twice. When the chip is gone, he looks at Dad again. I know Dad will shift his eyes to me to see if I’m watching, so I make a point of seeming involved with my phone. Because Dad moves slowly in all things, I know it will take him a moment to fish out another chip for Nick.

This time, when a chip lands right at his nose, Nick doesn’t hesitate. In fact, the chip disappears so quickly that I could have missed it if I’d looked away for even a second. Now I know Nick’s eyes will light on me, so again, I study the screen of my phone. My hair hides my face from them at this angle, so they can’t see that my eyes are upturned and that I’m watching this whole unbelievable scenario.

It’s hard to describe the jolt of incredulity that shoots through me when I realize that these two are conspiring against David and me. Dad seems to be indicating to Nick to keep a lookout, even as he turns his head slightly to look at me out of the corner of his eye. Believing that I’m not paying attention, the two of them eye each other. I can’t see Dad’s expression, because his face is turned toward Nick, but I can see Nick’s expression, and I see happiness, which I choose to believe has more to do with having a new friend and a new source of food, than with the food itself.

David plates the last sandwich and holds it out to me. “You take these, please. I don’t trust anyone else in this room.” He turns and points the spatula, first at Dad, then at Nick. “I’ve never seen so much food flying around this kitchen,” he admonishes them, and then he bursts into laughter again.

Caught!

Seems while I was paying so much attention to my phone and the food action, I had missed the fact that David was also aware of what was happening.

I’m laughing now, too. Nick has the good grace to look chagrined, but Dad loves that he’s gotten away with something. A sly smile curls his lips, and I see a gleam in his eye that has been missing for a long while.

 

 

Nick lies by Dad’s chair the entire time we are eating outside. He often lies by Dad’s chair when we’re out here, and I wonder if it’s because he knows Dad is the one most likely to drop food, or if the real bonding process has begun.

All of us are in high spirits, and it’s rewarding to realize just how much the maudlin mood that had hovered throughout our home has lifted. When you live together in such close proximity, despite the size of the house, there is no way to avoid the effects of the other occupants’ moods.

Communication isn’t confined to speech, especially in our household. We are attuned to the others’ thoughts, feelings and moods without having to discuss them.

David and I agree that Nick reads our thoughts and moods and reacts accordingly. Everyone knows that dogs watch their people for cues, but in our estimation, Nick’s attention and intuition go beyond that.

Yesterday, when he approached a wounded bird with the intention of finishing it off, he sensed my strong displeasure without my having said a word. He looked at me and backed away.

So it only makes sense that when David and I were down in the dumps, Nick naturally absorbed those vibes and responded in kind.

Why should Dad be any different?

I think again about the glee Dad had felt in believing he’d gotten away with feeding Nick. Dad has always been a prankster, just one more thing that was a subset of his sense of humor, but I had seen little evidence of it since he had come to live with us.

But David and I have cleared the cobwebs that had been blocking the light around us. Nick has established a buddy-bond with the other person in the house and is much more relaxed. Dad’s sense of humor and tendency toward mischief has been revived.

Contentment flows over me, and I’m feeling more peaceful than I’ve felt in, well, years. I only hope it will last.