A smooth move, indeed

Dad slept little last night, and who could blame him? Unable to reason through the changes that were about to engulf him, he was overwhelmed with anxiety. I was anxious, too, and still on a guilt trip of epic proportions, worrying against all reason that I was doing my father a major disservice to move him to “memory care.”

I had told Dad I would wake him up a little earlier than usual. Maybe that’s what prompted him to get up at 2:00, 4:00, and 5:00 (approximately). Each time, I told him to “go back to bed – it’s not time to get up yet.” Finally, at 6:30, I got up showered.

About 10:00 a.m., the Smooth Moves truck arrived with a couple of guys to carry Dad’s heavy furniture from one building to the next. It took less than the two-hour minimum charge. Dad, sis-in-law, and I followed the last load, with Dad asking, “Where are we going?”

We walked into the new apartment – a living room, hallway, bedroom, and bath – and, even without pictures and other homey touches, it looked wonderful. We had mapped out where the furniture would go and everything was in its place. The only things Dad seemed to miss were the refrigerator and the telephone.

Then, leaving Dad to eat lunch with his new neighbors, we began hauling the small stuff, clothing, and decorative items and making the place feel like home. By the time we were through hanging the last picture, it was after 5:00 p.m., and I had logged more than 11,000 steps (5+ miles) on my pedometer.

We took Dad to a Chinese restaurant for dinner and to celebrate Sis’s birthday. Dad was so tired he was barely able to stay in his chair. I could have crawled under the table for a nap, too. But on the way home, he asked, “Do you like ice cream?” It doesn’t take an expert linguist to translate that to “Let’s go get ice cream.” So, I drove around until I found a Brewster’s ice cream store. I found enough change in my purse for two cones.

Soon I began feeling like I’d make a major mistake. Eating ice cream before it melts, when it’s 96 degrees outside, is not easy for an average person. But take someone like Dad, with Parkinsons, who does everything in slow mo, and you’ve got a mess that would rival a two-year-old’s. But Poppa was in slurpin’, sloppin’ heaven, so I just sat there grinning and trying not to worry about my upholstery.

It didn’t take long to get Dad ready for bed. This is the first night in more than two months that I’ve spent away from him. I pray he sleeps soundly. I know I will.

Sue