It actually started night before last. I heard my dad rattling the pills in his cup at the supper table, but it turns out he didn't follow through as usual and actually take them. As a result, he spent a very restless night, since his sleep aid is in that evening dose.
The next day went fine, as far as I knew, until around 12:30 I got a call from Meals On Wheels. Their driver had stopped by and couldn't get any verbal indication from my dad that he was in the house. Was he supposed to be home? Since he had no medical appointments, and it was cold and rainy so his scooter stayed inside, the answer was yes. I thanked them for the alert, informed them his grandson was in the house and could check it out, and started to worry. Of course. At that distance, worry is what I do best.
Rich came upstairs and found that his grandfather had gone back to bed. By that I don't mean gone in to lay down, but gotten into his pajamas as if it were night time. He woke Grandpa and informed him that his lunch was there. Whew! So I called Meals on Wheels, explained the situation, and we had a nice relieved chuckle about it. (Since I had them on the phone, I told them how much he liked their service, much better meals than he'd gotten in Vadnais Heights, and ordered them for Fridays, now that Paul has the opportunity again for overtime.)
Last night when I got home from work, I got the fallout from the morning's confusion. First my dad started explaining how he'd gone to bed when his watch said 10:30 PM, but it was very strange outside. He could swear that sunlight was trying to come in his east window. I told him about his morning's activities, thinking that was all that was needed, and we watched Gunsmoke from the DVR.
When it was over, he asked to have a serious talk with me. He was concerned that three days had gone by without me being there to help him get up, have breakfast, or be around in the night before he went to bed. And one of those nights was most peculiar. He'd waited for me to come home until 10:30, then given up and gone to bed, although it was hard to sleep because there was sunlight pouring in his east window. I wasn't there when he'd gotten up, and he'd gotten no breakfast. He thought I should be around more to take better care of him than that.
First, I asked him whether he realized that none of that had actually happened, except for the part about him going to bed with the sun coming in the window (although with the rain, I wondered about actual sunshine). It hadn't happened days ago but this morning. I had actually gotten him up every morning and gotten him breakfast before going to work each day, although I wasn't in fact there this noon when he "got up" the second time for the day. And I had seen him every night except the "night" at 10:30 this morning, when he got confused and went to bed. We talked about how his memory sometimes plays tricks on him, although at other times he's sharp as a tack. I also reminded him he's just turned 96, a bit of a contributing factor.
After quite a long discussion - about 20 minutes, which is long these days - he seemed to understand finally what had happened, although I had to repeat some things a few times and tie them in with other things for him. I'm not sure it's entirely settled in his mind, since I know his feelings of confusion and abandonment make those "memories" much clearer than the explanation for them. But it's nearly time to get him up for the day, and I'm about to find out.
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I am totally able to relate to what you experienced. My father (God rest his soul) was 90 years old when he past away and suffered from dementia, among some other physical problems. He would sit and talk to his imaginary visitors in a low, muffled voice that I could never quite understand, and there were times when he as coherent as you or I, which is the sad part. I will never regret the extra time and effort Ispent taking care of him. I admire you srength and commitment. God bless you.
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