February 23, 2015
The story really begins last Friday when I stuffed Dad’s marigold-colored corduroy pants into a plastic bag without checking the pockets. Later that night I found Dad’s clip, still holding his Twenty-one dollars, at the bottom of the washing machine. It is the same twenty-one dollars Dad has carried around in his pocket for at least three months. He lost several silver money clips about a year ago and switched to the basic stationery clip. Usually, he switches it into a pocket of clean pants after a shower. The room key was part of the ritual until it vanished many months ago. I knew Dad wouldn’t need money for anything: I let Jane know I had both his pants and his money so she wouldn’t worry about them if she noticed they were missing.

Dad’s Twenty-one Dollars that went through the wash
My normal day to visit is Thursday. Hardly anything is normal anymore. I had to go this morning or not at all this week. I opted to go this morning and drop off the mop and bucket I bought to help keep our shoes from sticking to the bathroom floor. I arrived a bit before 11 am. Dad was asleep in his chair, as usual, a cup of coffee beside his chair. Coffee in a cup and saucer, not a disposable cup. Dad must have made it to breakfast for a change. He got up out of his chair, quite easily for a change. I gave him a big hug.
“How are you, Dad?”
“Not so good.”
Dad always says he is wonderful.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not good. I’ve lost my memory.”
“Dad, you lost your memory a long time ago. Why are you worried about it now?”
“I’ve been writing about it, hoping to figure things out. This is not good.” He sat back down in his chair.
I noticed that he looked alert; he looked present; he looked like the Dad I feel I lost a while ago.
He began to tell me the story, in great detail, of the previous twenty-four hours. He and Jane had attended a President’s Day Event at Washington Crossing Camp Ground, an event that Dad had always participated in prior to his dementia. At one point during the day there had been a small admission charge for something. Dad had reached into his pocket for his money clip and found he had only empty pockets … ALL of his pockets were empty; no money, no keys, no credit cards. He panicked and told Jane he didn’t have any money. She reassured him that it was okay because she had his money. He was totally baffled. He hadn’t remembered giving Jane his money.
He didn’t sleep last night, worrying. He couldn’t believe that his memory was gone, that he couldn’t remember important things. He tested himself by naming his children; Louise, Ann, Chris and David. He tried naming his grandchildren, but couldn’t. He tried naming his children’s spouses and wasn’t sure if he got them right … or not. As he was searching his brain for names, he thought of Jack Law (his former brother-in-law) and wondered what had happened to him.
“Did he die? Didn’t he run off with another woman? Where are my credit cards? Do you have them, Chris?”
“Dad. Hold on. I don’t know if I can answer all of your questions, but I can tell you where your money is. It’s at my house with your marigold-colored corduroy pants that I took home to wash. Our dryer broke and I hung them up to dry. I forgot to bring them with me today. Your money was in a pocket. I forgot that, too, but I can give you money again and we’ll find a clip.”

Dad’s new “validating” money roll.
Dad began to cry. “I am so relieved! I didn’t know what happened. I couldn’t remember anything. I thought maybe somebody came into my room and went through my pockets. I was going to call the police! I am sooooo glad you came this morning. The only way I finally fell asleep at about 3 am this morning was that I thought maybe I had dreamt that I lost my money; but the dream was so vivid! Thinking I had only dreamt it allowed me to fall asleep. When I woke up again, early this morning, I was shocked to see the painting of “Thokes” on the wall and the airplane hanging from the ceiling. I had no idea how they had gotten there. I started wondering how long I had been here … a couple of days? a week? maybe a month or two? I got out of bed to check my pockets to make sure that it had just been a bad dream. But my pockets were empty. I knew it wasn’t a dream. I knew that I had lost my memory. Do you think other people know I’ve lost my memory, Chris?”
“Yes, Dad, everyone knows you’ve lost you memory. You lost it a long time ago. It’s okay. We all love you very much. You still beat us in cards! Your memory doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your card playing.”
“I’m worried that the reason Jane didn’t sleep the other night is that she is worrying about me. I’m afraid I may never see her again. She is so special to me! I love her so much!”
“Dad, Jane loves you, too. She has a lot on her mind lately. Of course, you will see here again. Ann is taking the two of you to dinner tomorrow night for your birthday!”
“Yes, I remember Jane told me about that.”
Dad remembered all sorts of other things, too. He remembered his table mate, Tom, reminding him to try to get to meals on time. He remembered Howard hanging up the plane above his chair. He remembered that the house he and mom built was now two stories high and that the family has three sons. He knew that the little watercolor on the wall across from his chair is one I did from a photograph of Louise and Ann at Virginia Beach when they were very young.
Dad had been shocked by his empty pockets. He didn’t know how he could be totally broke. I remembered the stories Dad told of the farmers in Indiana always having a huge roll of bills in their pockets. Perhaps having money in one’s pocket validates one’s existence.
“I can’t wait to tell Jane. I feel as if I have awakened from a long winter’s nap. It’s the most exciting day of my life. My life is starting to make sense … but how long will it last?”
“I don’t know, Dad. What I do know is that this is the first real conversation we’ve had in over a year and I am thrilled to be here as a witness of your awakening, even if it’s only temporary.”
“But maybe there’s something I can do about it now that I am aware that I have a brain problem. I was afraid, when I awoke here this morning, that I may have done something wrong. Since I didn’t know how I got here, I was afraid I may have done something dishonest and that would be horrible.”
“You’re here, Dad, not because of something you did, but because your brain started to let you down and it is safer for you to be here where we know you are okay when the hurricanes hit. We know you have three meals a day. We know that the people here care about you.”
Just then there was a knock on the door. It was Rita, coming to get Dad to join in the hall walks. She noticed something different about Dad. I gave her a short explanation of what I had learned from Dad over the last hour. She, too, is thrilled. She will have Meaghan check Dad out to see if the new cognitive program might keep things going for a while.
I couldn’t stay very long and wanted to make sure Dad showered.
“i showered this morning, Chris …. I KNOW I showered this morning. I realize I’ve probably told you that before without really knowing, but this morning I DO know.” A huge grin spread across Dad’s face.
“I believe you, Dad.”
“Chris, it’s time for lunch. Will you join me?”
“I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes. I bet you haven’t thought of lunch on your own for quite some time. I’m proud of you, Dad.”
After washing the bathroom floor, I joined Dad in the dining room. I wanted to do cartwheels when I walked through the door and saw Dad chatting away with Tom and John. Both Tom and John had looks of surprise and pleasure on their faces.
“Your Dad’s been telling us an amazing story. He says that today is the best day of his life. It’s certainly must be true. He hasn’t said a word to us for months and he is back to his old self.” On Friday, the conversation had only been between three of us; Tom, John and me. Today, there were four people participating and Dad had more to say than the rest of us.
At least three other people came over to chat, happy to see Dad alert again.
Wow!!!
When we returned to his room, I asked him if he thought he might want to write something about his experience.
“I certainly do! In fact, I had planned to go out somewhere today and buy a pad to write on, but then I remembered that I have this one and I think it is much better.” He lifted a few books and pulled out a sketchbook that he had been given to him but he hadn’t used.
“You know, I was really surprised to see that keyboard in my room. How long has that been here?”
Today was the first time I have seen Dad initiate anything on his own. Today, he initiated dozens of things on his own.

Awakened from a long, winter’s nap.
I hope that his awakened state will last long enough for Jane and Anna’s family to have a wonderful, 92nd birthday dinner with Dad tomorrow night.
Dad, today was one of the best days in my life, too! Thank you! I love you.