I watched our favorite college football team beat one of our least favorite college teams the other day. It was such an exciting game! You would have loved to see it. I felt so excited over the upset, but also sad that you weren’t watching it with me. It doesn’t seem like that long ago that you took me to my very first college football game, and you patiently explained the rules and why the referees were throwing flags and why the fans were getting upset. Now if we ever watch a football game together, the reverse is true. Your eyes kind of glaze over, and I can tell that you’re not following what you’re seeing on the screen. I try my best to explain the plays and the scoring, but you just don’t understand it or enjoy it the same way that you used to.
You missed my birthday for the first time.
I know you would have been there if you could have, but you’re in a memory care facility now, and you weren’t able to leave. You would have had so much fun at my party! And I bet you would have had TWO slices of my cake. When we went to visit you the day before my birthday, and we told you how old I was turning, you said, “Golly!” like you were surprised that I had reached such an age. It’s weird, but I feel the same way about you. Every time I see you, I’m surprised to find you looking so much older than the image of you I carry around in my mind. I still imagine you to be the dad that I had growing up, wearing suits and carrying a briefcase to work and using a cell phone before cell phones were even popular. It’s eerie and strange to instead see my dad with white hair and age spots, shuffling through the halls with no-slip socks and being cared for by a nurse.
I miss talking to you about things that are happening in my life.
You used to listen so well and ask really good questions. You would take on my burdens as if they were your own, and I can’t explain why, but having you worry over my problems made me feel like I could worry less. I remember the first time I called you for help, and I realized that you really weren’t able to help me anymore. I had a flat tire in my driveway, and you immediately hopped in your car and drove over to my house to assist. You brought an entire toolbox with you, but you didn’t seem to have any of the tools we actually needed. I looked at you, and you looked at me, and you said, “Well, what should we do first?” I realized you didn’t remember how to change a flat tire, so we looked it up on YouTube, and eventually ended up calling AAA when neither of us could make it work. You sat with me until the roadside assistance showed up, and you apologized that you couldn’t help. And I told you it was okay. It’s not your fault.
None of this is your fault, by the way. I hope you know that we’re not upset with you for forgetting. We know that you wish you could remember. And occasionally those memories do rise to the surface, and you’re momentarily your old self again. You’ll say a line that sounds just like something my dad would say, before you quietly slip back into the dark again.
It’s a very strange thing to miss you while you’re still here. But I hope you know that I remember all of it.
I remember enough for the both of us, and whenever I visit with you, I tell you stories about things that you said or did, and you smile like you’re hearing it for the first time, and you say, “I did that?” You’re looking a little lost these days, but you’re still my dad. You’re still the dad who used to pick me up and put me on his shoulders so that I could see the fireworks light up the sky over the Disney castle, and you’re the dad who welcomed me to come live back at home for a while when I got divorced. You’re the dad who carried the burdens of our entire family for your whole life, worrying over everyone else’s problems as if they were your own. Now it’s time for us to return the favor, and to take care of you for a while. 
