Being Ernest

I had one goal today for my visit with dad... trimming his fingernails.

I set out with toenail clippers in hand (that's right!), and my youngest daughter.

When I arrived, he was not in his usual spot in the dining room. Today, he was in a recliner in the TV room, fast asleep. I nudged him awake and said my hello's. I gently held his right hand and promptly snipped away. Some nails already shortened by his own incessant picking, others quite long and thick. (Hence, the toenail clippers.)

Getting to the left hand was not as easy. I literally had a battle on my hands. He was pulling away, grabbing my wrists, hiding his fingers. Doing all that he could to prevent me from completing my task. I learned today, that patience is key. I sat and held his hand and waited.
And waited.
And waited. 

I talked to him as I continued to make my way to a finger. I would single one out, pose it and wait. More than once, I had to start this process over. I eventually won the battle and left dad trimmed and both of us, quite content.

Being Ernest

It's Friday afternoon and I'm sitting here with dad. He was asleep when I arrived but was easily awakened.

He was again in his wheelchair at the dining table. This seems to be his comfort zone. I have not seen him in front of the television for some time now.

He glances my way once in a while and manages a smile. I hope this is a sign of contentment. I often wonder if he still experiences joy.  A smile gives me hope that he does.

Being Ernest

Friday has become my dad day. I spend at least an hour with him in the morning. Today is no exception. 

He has been in a Memory Care Center for two months. It was a hard decision to make. One filled with doubts and second guessing.  But, as we watch his continued withdrawal and decline,  we know now that this is right.  He is getting what we couldn't give and more of what we could... and this is good.

Today, I found him is his usual morning place. In a wheelchair at the dining room table.  All alone. I sat down in front of him and tried to make eye contact.  This is becoming increasingly difficult.  My eyes chased his and we finally connected.  I got a smile and a chuckle.  He doesn't speak much.

As part of our routine,  I scratch his back which is riddled with keratosis.  Some days this perks him up and he leans forward anticipating more. Today he didn't budge. I went to his room, got a warm, wet wash cloth. I wiped his face, cleaned the gunk from his lashes, and groomed his hair a bit. He enjoyed this, just as he did at home.

Most of my visit today was quiet. I just sat next to him as he slept. He perked up a bit after the nurses (who call him Ter-Bear) urged him to get up. He took a brief walk with their assistance. He sat down, in a chair this time, and we were able to connect eye to eye. He held eye contact for a bit this time. I like that. It gives our souls a chance to communicate. Another chuckle or two later he was back to dozing off. I said my goodbyes and told him I would see him another day.