Monday, August 24, 2009


I agonized for months over the decision to move Dad into a facility. I could see that the disease was progressing and Dad’s depression appeared to be worsening. I feared that I would miss something, some change in his physical state that heralded a serious health problem. Constantly nervous every time my phone rang, I dreaded someone calling to tell me that Dad had done something absolutely crazy, or had walked off and gotten lost. I shuddered at the thought that something would happen in that decrepit house while I was gone, that he would leave the stove on and burn the house down.

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