Conversations With Dad

Ring.

"Hello." ....

"Oh, Hi, Steve, how are you?" ....

"Oh, I had a good morning. Went out hunting and got half a deer." ....

"Yeah, then I went out again this afternoon and got a faun. It was three days old." ....

Eavesdropping on my dad's conversations with my brother during one of his daily phone calls can be quite entertaining. On this particular day, he'd just spent three hours in his chair with his nose up to the TV, watching the Packers trounce the Bears. When asked a question or otherwise engaged in conversation, he was quite lucid. But as soon as the game ended, he returned to his lift chair, stretched out, closed his eyes....

It's as if a shut-off switch had been thrown in the minute or so it took before the phone rang. Sense. Then nonsense. Since my dad takes lots of naps through the day, and Steve often gets his call in just as my dad is waking, or in fact wakes him with the call, I have to wonder just how much weird crap he has to listen through before anything starts making sense again. I have personally sat right next to my dad when he tells Steve that he's all alone in the house. Often he goes on about hunting, an activity he hasn't indulged in for years, much less as he described it the other morning.

But no matter how weird it gets, Steve still calls again the next day. And no matter how weird he sounds, when I ask him about the call later, my dad not only remembers that Steve called, he answers questions about how things are up with Steve's family that appear to make perfect sense, knowing what the weather's like, when they are on vacation or about to be, etc.

On the other hand, he seems to be getting more lucid during my conversations with him in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. I no longer hear questions about who was partying in his room overnight. He seems to know I'm Heather and not some mysterious nurse. Most times he knows this isn't the middle of WWII, at least lately.

If only that all meant he didn't need quite so much attention during the night.

"Heather!"

Two minutes later as I stumble into the room: "Hi Daddy, what do you need?"

"Oh hi. What time is it?"

"It's 1:30 in the morning. What do you need?"

"Nothing."

"OK, Daddy, have a sip of water and go back to sleep. I'll see you at 6:30 when it's time to wake you up."

"Promise?

"I always do, don't I?"

"Yes."

"OK, good night then."

....

"Heather!"

"Heather!"

"Hi Daddy, what do you need?"

"What time it is?"

"It's 2:00 Daddy, about half an hour since you last called me."

"Oh damn!"

"What do you need, Daddy?"

And on it goes. By the fourth time he calls in the same night, I'm much more likely to greet him with, "Now what?" Especially on those night when I have to drive the next day. Last Thursday was one of those. (I wound up staying home Friday, getting some sleep.) By the fourth call, I was scolding him.

"I'm a bitch." Then he turned and look at me and said, "You're a bitch."

I was in no mood to dispute him at that point. I just tried to remind him that I needed to get some sleep and I couldn't when he kept calling me. By Sunday night I unplugged the baby monitor in my room after four wake-up calls. It wasn't just those, but his need to sing and talk all night as well. By 4AM I rebelled. I was not about to lose another day of work.

Last night before he went to bed, Richard and I worked on refreshing his memory that he has a talking watch on his arm, and if he pushed the right button it will tell him what time it is. I know he uses it sometimes. I can hear it. But he'd rather wake me and ask.

We're working on it.