I forgot what I was going to write: short thoughts on dementia

We all know that we don't stay young and spritely forever - insert LA/plastic surgery joke here - but it's a constant reminder of what's coming down the pike when you have old parents. My father now suffers from dementia, which is probably something I wished he suffered from during my teen years, and he can't be left alone. My mother is quite understanding of the fact that he doesn't remember whether he got dressed. Sometimes he dresses himself at nighttime after he has put on his pajamas, which means he looks quite beefy, if overheated, in bed.

Other times, my father cannot remember what he did a few minutes ago, so consequently if you pay a visit home, you'll be offered a cup of coffee, receive it, and then two minutes later when you are sipping a steaming cup of java, be treated to my father asking politely if you'd like some coffee.

My sister - she seemingly suffering dementia about my father's dementia - recently took my parents on an overseas trip. They had a glorious time, visiting lakes and hills, enjoying cow milking demonstrations and other bucolic pursuits; really it was a month's worth of fun packed into week. When they got home, my dad commented that a week wasn't long enough. Five minutes later he came by the hallway and saw the suitcases from their vacation and inquired whether he was going on a trip. It's like deja vu all over again.