It is so hard to remember when he started to forget. It was subtle at first. A hurry off the phone. “Ok, gotta go, Bubby.” The careful reporting of the weather was a daily share. Something he knew he would not forget. Telling us about the care and keeping of the condo grounds. Which flowers were blooming. If they had removed the snow. He would look out through the blinds and tell us, in the moment, what he could see. In a state of presence his reportage made everything feel ok.
My brother marks a day when he received Dad’s final council on a contract. Dad was always so good at negotiating. He was like a velvet hammer. You never felt sold to or strong armed. It was his soft mid-western manner mixed with Mad Man savvy. “In the end, everyone wins.” That was always his advice. I still craft a proposal or take a meeting with this in mind.
I recall brainstorming names for my pr firm in the early 90s, when boutique agencies were emerging. Women’s Wear Daily introduced Kate Danes and I. She showed lines and had editors besotted with her therapeutic advisory and keen listening. I was the writer, proposal and events girl. We each kept a few of our old clients and collaborated on pitching new business.
In the cold air conditioning of Au Bon Pan, we met to mastermind some clever, if cheeky, fashion and beauty monikers for the biz. We were a small boutique agency with two principals that handled your account. “That is what makes you different than the big outfits,” Dad shared. Use YOUR names he counseled. “If you are doing the work, put your name on the door. That is what makes it clever.” And we did. Leiner/Danes handled big names like Brooks Brothers and Jockey, Cynthia Rowley, Victor Alfaro, The Woolmark and more. Winning advice. Once Dad attended a runway show and sat front row - still warms my heart at how impressed he was to see me in action. And sad he never met The Memory Circle.
Dad once walked out the front door of his condo in the dark early morning hours. He was still living on his own with hourly help cooking, cleaning and dispensing prescriptions. He called the women, “The Patchers”. They changed his meds in the form of a sticker that needed to be replaced every 24 hours. It was when the police gave us a call, that we knew we needed more than a patch.
This was that red alert day when everything changed from before and after. Some of the other changes were more subtle. He stopped doing the New York Times crossword. He stopped calling as often and then not at all. Memory loss is a slow robber. His daily visits to Lange’s Deli ended. It sneaks its way in and takes small pieces of normal as you known it. You make new systems, until they no longer work, or help. A basket with a daily change of clothes arranged. A new landline with large oversized photos of us instead of numbers.
Dad lives at “The Club” now. An assisted living community with a memory care wing. We will go visit with him today. Some New Balance in hand to match his joggers and hoodies. He is the hippest dresser in the place. The young man who helps pick his clothes each day is amused - we love the combos he picks. Dad has t-shirts from travels and favorite old haunts, a college smattering from his and ours, and favorite polos emblazoned with his beloved moniker, Grampsy. We will tell him it is Father’s Day.
On a recent hospital visit, we realized he answers best to Neil. This makes sense. This is what he hears most and has grown accustomed to from the staff who tends to him between our visits. Some days you can almost hear and see the synapses snap into attention. Like a puzzle on vacation. It all comes together with ease. And in that beautiful moment, we forget too, that there is so much we’ve all lost. I wonder if he feels it too?
He never forgets to say thank you. His manners seem baked into forever. He is easy and cheerful and content. This too feels like Dad in the before AND after. Long ago we decided to meet him exactly where he is, and on most days this helps.
We are now his advisory board and council. All four of his kids. And grandkids. His eyes and ears and voice in care. And every so often there are glimmers of a past so easily brought into sharp focus. Nothing beats the days when visits end in our so-longs and “I love you” and Dad replies with the words forever familiar as we part….”love you more.”
Wishing all who find the day complicated, complex or plain old sad. Love you more.
Join me in person this Friday on The Longest Day: Soltice Soirée Enjoy gentle movement, writing and ritual. A transformative time together. Scholarships available.