Each Sunday I spend with my Dad he seems a bit worse. Often when I’m at their house he seems fine but on Sundays we’re out and about together and I can see the change. Last week he forgot he had to pay for his coffee after mass at the parish hall. It was fine—I think they were just going to let him go but I paid for him. He used to always make a point of paying for me. We now sit in the front pew so he doesn’t have to get up for communion.

At the grocery store I’ve noticed that he will only follow me—used to be I could say ‘let’s go get the bread’ and he would head over there—no more. And today when we were waiting for the butcher to trim the pork tenderloin I told my Dad I was just going to go about 15 feet down and ask for the salmon. He didn’t want me to go though—said he might get lost. He was much slower pushing the cart today.

My mother said he’s finally accepted the Alzheimer’s. He said he guesses he got it from his mother. Somehow his acceptance is more heartbreaking than his denial.

I sat with my mother for awhile today with her in tears. She says she tries so hard to be patient but sometimes she gets cross with him. My heart breaks for the two of them.

My mother is doing worse too. We’re working on getting her a wheelchair from Medicare but now I need to figure out how to get a ramp built for their house. And then–what about getting her into our house? I need to figure all that out.

I had lots of plans for this afternoon but these Sundays wear me out emotionally. Why must aging be so undiginifed and painful?