Essay Excerpt I

'"Hey, Dad, how're you doing?" I ask, bending down to peer into his eyes, eyes that have grown rheumy with age and vacant from illness. His customary colorful flannel shirt, layered over two sweatshirts and an undershirt, is tucked into his waistband, belted pants pulled high like a geek from a bad movie. We are here today to meet with the mental health nurse, who is here to talk to Dad and evaluate him. The facility requested this evaluation because of Dad's growing aggressive and territorial behavior; they want something done, whether its a med change or a difference in care, but I wonder how much of it just the way the illness is going, regrettable, and uncontrollable. The smells of the facility seep into my consciousness; age, disinfectant, a faint whiff of urine, and apples-always apples. My mind wanders for a minute, wondering why every facility I've ever been in smells like apples. Urine I get, buy why apples?'