At first, I worried about my dad-in-law's desire to just sit in a cozy chair in the yard by himself. But I quickly reversed my fear of Pepaw being "alone." Amid the crowd of two dozen, he could be "involved," yet keep his usual comfortable distance.
Just give the man a pack of cigarettes, a working lighter, sunshine and shade, and he was content. He was happy. He was smiling. He was entitled.
After all, it was his 84th birthday. He was gracious enough to ride four hours to go to my dad and step-mom's house for a family gathering overflowing with strangers. My dad came up to Pepaw as he got out of the van and extended his hand in greeting, "Remember me?" Pepaw shook hands, smiled, chuckled and nodded toward me. Yep, he knew there was a connection … though it may have been my occasional coaching during the long drive: "We're going to my dad's …"
You do the best you can to prepare someone who has dementia. With Pepaw, he could have bluffed his way through anything with his charming smile, and no matter what happens, you make the pledge to not worry.
My step-mom and I had planned for her to get a birthday cake for Pepaw and two other guests who were also celebrating birthdays this week. As my son — one of the other honorees — and my step-mom lit 10 candles, we called Pepaw over and wished him a happy birthday. He simply smiled and accepted a couple of cards as we asked him to blow out the candles.
He took off his hat, took a deep breath and in one targeted blow, extinguished all 10 lights simultaneously. He accepted the cheers and applause graciously.
Not bad, not bad at all for a guy who's smoked most of his 84 years. After donning his cap, he went back to his chair to continue to marvel at the blue sky and the artistry of sparse clouds and smoke another cigarette.
Yes, his one puff took our breath away.
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