When I started this blog, I thought I had years of weekly lunches with my dad at Perkins.  Never in a million years did I think that within a few short months, I would have to start seeing dad live away from us.  Was I blind to how bad it is with him or am I selfish?  I don't know right now, I need to figure that out and will hopefully one day be at peace with all of this.  For now, all I can do is take it one day at a time...no one minute at a time.

So part of this blog was to help me see the good in every day.  The good in this horrible situation.  Because I honestly believe that there is a reason for everything that happens.  All though, I haven't seen a good enough reason for all of this; I trust that one day I will know and my faith tells me that God has a bigger plan.

It has been several weeks since I have felt any peace, hope, or goodness.  I have been living on coffee, adrenaline, and fear.  I didn't care about silver linings.  I was almost willing to never write again.  But today I saw a silver lining. 

I sat at a table surrounded by my family this morning.  My husband, my boys, my mom, my brother, Katy, Ella, Anna, and Charlotte.  We laughed and talked, but we all knew one piece of our family was missing.  How many tables have we sat around the last few decades+ with dad at the head of it? Too many to count.  It didn't feel right to me.  It felt to me, like we were cheating on dad.  While he was sitting alone in a nursing home, we were all together.  It didn't feel real to me.  I actually quit eating my breakfast because I was so sick to my stomach thinking about our missing link.  

I let my family out at the front door and went and parked the car.    I said a little prayer, put on my brave face...and walked in.  As the 10 of us walked through the doors, we could see dad sitting off by himself.  We all started waving at him and that wonderful smile he has lit up his whole face as he waved back.  We hugged and kissed him.  

As we all surrounded dad and listened to him tell us about his trip to the airport, how he got kicked out of his room because it was being cleaned, how he knew there was something downstairs that needed to be fixed but couldn't remember what it was, and how the ladies here should sale the strawberries for money because they would make a lot, I looked around and there we all were...together.  Silver lining.

Silent Warrior

 I am posting this over a week late.  But with understandable reason.  I won't get into much of the details right now, but dad is not doing well.  It has now been a week since the decline and there have been many changes in a very short period of time.  Changes that need time, patience, and adjustment.  Just know we are hanging in there, still trying to search for the silver linings. 

With that being said, last Tuesday, I still had my lunch date at Perkins, however, it was with my mom.  Dad was unable to come, but mom showed up for me (silver lining).  This, I will be forever grateful.  The lunch hour was filled with talk about dad, the one topic that we seem to have so much to talk about these days.  We cry, we laugh, we reminisce, and we plan.    

Mom has been the main caregiver for dad since his diagnoses.  She has seen him go from good to not so good, not so good to bad, and bad to worse in a closer and more intimate way that anyone else has.  24 hours, 7 days a week, she has been faced with the reality of what is happening to dad.  So every time she needs to get something off her chest, I am more than happy to listen.   However, I know my mom and I know that she only calls me a few times out of the hundreds of times she is hurting. I think it is because she thinks she is bothering me, but that is so far from the truth.  I have watched her face the ugliness of this disease with a brave face.  Not always, but more often than not.  

I have tried to be the glue, the glue keeping everyone together.  Reminding her and others that we will get through this, dad will be ok, and it was best to accept this trial we have been given and look for all the silver linings.  But last night, I lost it.  I am sad and angry that things have come to this stage.  I do not want dad to leave their home.  I don't want to finalize that.  As mom sat with me, she explained to me that it was time for me to accept this part of the journey.  The part of letting go of what I can't control.  I guess I thought that if dad could just stay in the home with her, that would mean we weren't giving up.  That we could always keep him safe and protected.  But as I cried, she reassured me that we are not giving up, we are just taking the next (hard) step in this journey.  

The idea of dad living else where without her, still makes me sad.  It still makes my stomach get in knots and my heart race.  When I get angry, I get silent.  Hence why this has taken longer to post. So I am taking things minute by minute.  I will just have to figure this new way of life out and figure out a new way of doing things.  And I will.  We all will.  I have a lot of support between family and friends and I know they are here for me when my glue starts to fade and lose it's strength (silver lining).

As mom and I finished up our lunch the waiter asked us if we needed anything else.  I ordered a slice of lemon meringue pie to go and handed it to mom.  I needed dad to know I didn't forget about him or the special moments we have shared the last few months.  And I need mom to know that her showing up for me meant the world!   

Coffee talk on the front porch

 At 11:30 on Tuesday morning, I was sitting at my desk finishing up some work before I was to leave for my weekly lunch date with dad.  My phone rang and it was mom.  She had said that it had been a rough night with dad as he had been up most of the night and couldn't sleep which also meant no sleep for her either.  She said he was having a rough morning and she didn't think lunch was a good idea.  

At 3:30 p.m. my phone rings and it was mom again.  She was very upset and I could hardly get out what she was trying to tell me.  I heard "911" and then the slam of the phone.  I rushed to their house where I was greeted at the door by dad.  I asked him what was going on and he just shrugged and sat down in his chair.  

I learned that he had not eaten since noon the day before.  He also had refused to take his medication.  Mom was telling me she had tried but he was being sassy and not very nice to her.  Dad is also diabetic which is a recipe for disaster with all factors combined.  I asked mom to go out back and relax and that I would talk with dad. I sat down with dad but he started talking to the men on the tv as if they were in the room with us.  I knew the longer he went without some food, the worse he would probably get.   I went to the kitchen and made him a peanut butter sandwich.  I added some chips to the plate, grabbed his medicine, and a coke zero.  I took it out to dad and asked him to join me on the front porch.  He did with no resistance.  We sat there in silence for a bit while he ate his sandwich, took his medicine, and drank his coke.  

It was a beautiful day, one where the sky was bright blue with big fluffy clouds that looked like cotton candy.  There was a slight breeze from a rain storm that had come in the night before and the robins were chirping at each other.  I had my head back and was rocking in the chair with my eyes closed when dad said "My grass is looking really good."  Please see picture at top of page for reference and let me give you a back story.  

My dad loves his yard.  He loves anything to do with yard work.  He has always taken pride in having a  beautiful yard.  Every other week, he would mow the lawn in alternating diagonal lines to keep the grass growing even.  He used fertilizer religiously, and made sure the edges around the sidewalk were trimmed perfectly. The grass color was always a rich Kelly green, just like the Crayola crayon.  

About a year ago, a patch of grass in the front yard started to die.  We are not 100% sure what happened, but we have a feeling that dad had mistaken weed killer for fertilizer.  For the last year, my brother and my husband have spent time raking the spot, putting down new seed, fertilizing, and putting down new soil to try and get the patch to regrow.  The area is a perfect spot for regrowth and we have been puzzled as to why grass will not grow back there.  We have tried several different times with always the same outcome.  

I nodded and told dad that yes, I thought the yard was looking good.  He said he had been working hard on it and felt the coffee and hot sauce was helping.  I sat there for a minute not realizing what he had said at first, and then I asked him to repeat himself.  He said that the spot of dead grass was looking a lot better since he started pouring coffee and hot sauce on it in the mornings.  I wish I had my reaction on video because I imagine the look on my face was priceless.  I sat there for a minute, not sure how to respond.  So I asked dad why coffee and hot sauce and he said because if they can perk up a person, it should work the same on grass, you know...give it the "umph" it needs to grow.  I just chuckled and agreed with him.  

We sat on the porch for a little bit longer and talked about what had happened earlier.  He didn't remember the details other than he was mad  that mom had left him with people who were not his boss (home health care started the week before last and we are having someone come in to sit with dad 2 days a week to relieve mom).  By the time, I was ready to leave, he was calm, relaxed, fed, and had his medicine for the night.  All was well.

I have laughed over and over again this last week thinking about dad watering the lawn with coffee and hot sauce to "perk" it up.  Mom is always worried that having a full pot of coffee on the counter is keeping dad up at night.  But really all it is doing is keeping the grass in her front yard from growing.  

Alzheimer's Disease takes a lot away from dad and I do not find many positives that arise from him having it.  But small, sweet moments like this are priceless to me.  It is like he is a child and trying to figure things out for himself and I am proud of him for that.  And that is a silver lining.  

The challenge

 The morning I was set to take my dad to lunch, I woke up to an email from my mom.  She wanted to share with me something that happened the night before with my dad.  Her email started with, " I am not writing this to you to make you sad..."

With mom's permission, she has told me I could share this.  She was preparing my dad for bed and as she was helping him with his socks, he said to her, "I have a daughter. But I don't remember her name."  Let me start off first by telling you that I have dreaded this moment since my dad was diagnosed.  Selfishly, this has been my biggest fear.  I have told my self for the last year that this would be my breaking point.  But surprisingly, it wasn't.  

I cried for a moment, gave my children and husband a hug and left for work.  I cried the whole way to work.  Before I got out of my car to go in, I wiped my face, blew my nose, and reminded myself...Dementia will not win.  

As lunch time rolled around, I started to feel sick to my stomach.  What if I get to lunch and dad still doesn't know who I am?  As I pulled up next to their car, he looked over at me and smiled.  He got out of the car and said, "Hey there Vanessa."  We had a wonderful lunch (chicken fried steak, 2 eggs over easy, hashbrowns, and 1 pancake with a slice of lemon meringue pie on top).  We talked, we laughed, and for a moment all was well in the world.  (Silver lining).

Will there come a time when I am a stranger to my dad?  Of course.  Will there be a day where he looks at me and wants me to leave him alone?  Probably.  Will there be a time that I look at my dad and he stares right through me?  Yes.  Will it hurt?  Absolutely 100% yes.   But do I have to let it be my breaking point?  Nope.  It just means I will have to figure out a new way to help him and I can tell you now, I have never turned down a challenge.  

The peach tree

 

This week I was able to get back into the swing of dad and I's routine. We had lunch at Perkin's. Same time, same food choices, and the same conversational chit chat. There are times where I think I should come up with something to ask dad about or talk about something meaningful. But then I realize that I don't have to make our lunch dates into something they are not. That I just need to let it be and roll with it. And most times, it works itself out. And today's lunch proved that.


After our routine check in, discussion about the weather, update on the boys and their activities, and the "worries" of the week (this week, my dad is convinced that my mom and he are moving and he needs to make sure my brother and I have all of his treasures), my dad said something that made me go back in time. He told me he was going to go home and water the peach tree.


I was born in Michigan and we lived there until I was almost 6 years old. In the backyard next to the swing set my dad made me was a peach tree. This peach tree grew the best peaches I have ever had in my life. I remember swinging on that swing watching my dad mow the yard, darting in and around that massive tree (it looked massive to me at the time).


I remember the smell. Once the peaches were ripe, you could smell the peaches from a mile away. To this day, the smell of fresh peaches (not the canned ones) is my favorite scent. In high school I always used the peach scented bath and body works lotion because it reminded me of this peach tree. I love anything peach, the color, the smell, and the taste.


I remember the big barrel looking ice cream maker my dad and mom would make vanilla ice cream in. I loved watching it churn the cream into this creamy concoction but what was even better was when my mom cut up fresh peaches from our tree and stirred the bits throughout the ice cream. I have only found one other place that serves ice cream that comes close to that taste and it is only seasonal. You better believe that I frequent that establishment as much as I can when in season.


Reminiscing about that peach tree made me smile. It also reminded me that I have been blessed with so many memories from my childhood. (Silver lining). And on days where I am angry, it helps to remember this quote by Charles Dickens, "Reflect upon your present blessings-of which every man has many-not on your misfortunes, of which all men have some."


I find there to be many days that I am angry. I don't like that this is the way my parents are going to spend the rest of their time together on earth. I am angry that life for my family will never be the same. I am angry that this has happened to my dad. But I still have my dad. I still get to see his kind eyes and his smile that lights up his face. I still get to have moments with my dad which means I can still make memories. And even when dad is gone, there will still be blessings as I have so many memories. My memories outnumber my misfortunes by a landslide.

Fish fry

 This past week, Dennis and I took the boys on a Spring break vacation.  We had a blast and made a lot of memories.  The down side of being away was that I couldn't have my weekly lunch date with dad.  The Sunday before we left, I mentioned to dad that there was a Dan's Fish Fry in a town close by the day following our return home.  I knew we would be tired from travel and busy with catch up of laundry and grocery shopping, but I also knew how much my dad enjoys fried fish.  So we made the call to ask dad if he would like to go and get fish once we returned.  Of course, dad was all in.

I started to feel sick on our last day of vacation.  Stuffy nose, sore throat, and aches.  As soon as we touched down Friday, I was not feeling well at all.  I slept most of the day on Saturday to wake up at 4 p.m. which was the time we were to head over and get my dad.  I was very upset because I didn't want to cancel, but I also didn't want to risk getting my parents sick.  Through my frustrations, Dennis said that he would take him.  I told him he didn't have to do that, but he insisted.  Reminding me that he loves my dad too and would enjoy some quality time with him.

I drifted off back to sleep with peace in my mind knowing that my dad was still going to get to enjoy fish but sad that I would be missing it.  I also admit, I was a little sad that I was missing out on this weekly adventure as I have come to look forward to these moments with my dad very much.  At 7:30 p.m. my cell phone started to ring.  I looked and saw that it was my dad.  

As soon as I saw the words Dad Cell, I thought he was calling to tell me that he missed me being there.  But when I answered he asked me if I was at work.  I told him no that I was home sick and then he asked me if I was still on the airplane. It was like he wasn't listening at all to what I was saying.  I repeated, no I was sick and at home.  He didn't mention the fish fry, nor the fact that Dennis and the boys had just left his house.  He didn't mention anything about me not being there, just wanted to tell me that he had a box of coins and pencils that he wanted to give me sometime.  I told dad that I would gladly take the items he wanted to give me and do whatever it was that he wanted me to do with them.  He said thanks, and hung up.  

Dennis and the boys arrived a short time later.  Dennis told me of his evening adventure and how much my dad enjoyed the fish and talking with those also in attendance.  He chuckled as he told me how dad stopped and talked to a young man and thanked him for his service, but the poor guy had no clue what my dad was talking about.  But thankfully he rolled with it.  

Even though I was sad that I missed out, and even more sad that dad didn't realize I wasn't there, he enjoyed himself some fried fish and had great company to go along with it.  My silver lining.  

The boys

 

The boys have been on spring break this last week so they joined dad and I for lunch.  As I snapped the picture of the 3 of them it made me realize, that they too are suffering a great loss.  I would like to think that dad will be around when they graduate high school, move on to big things, and make dad a great grandpa one day.  But the reality is, he probably won't be.  

I have been pregnant 4 times.  The very first pregnancy was so exciting and I couldn't wait to tell dad.  I had always known he would be a wonderful grandpa just because of how he was to me growing up.  I could only imagine that his awesomeness would swell 100%.  The second hardest part of losing a child is having to tell the people that loved them as well.  I remember my mom and dad coming to our house and just sitting with Dennis and I.  There were no words exchanged but we all felt the hurt,  The second loss was no easier.  By the time I got pregnant for Myles, we were all on pins and needles just waiting for the worst.  But as my belly grew, the worry faded.  Dad was there every day while I was in the hospital.  He was one proud grandpa!  And he was there every day after that.  I loved watching dad with Myles.  I loved the way he would hold his little hand in his and walk through the garden.  I loved how he would take Myles to pick me a dandelion or how he would sit him on his lap for a lawn mower ride.  As Myles got older, I witnessed my dad be his greatest cheerleader.  From going to to every sport event and even taking him to the park to shoot baskets.  

Dad and mom was there every day for Will too when he was born.  Will had to spend a while in the NICU, but dad and mom came to the hospital every day, even though they couldn't see Will yet.  They came to show me love and support.  I really felt the love of my parents during that difficult time.  When my parents were finally able to meet him, they had to go through this process of washing hands from elbow down for a certain amount of time with a special soap.  To watch my dad do this, brings back such fond memories.  He gladly did what the hospital required so he could go into this little room to see his grandson laying in a box hooked up to all of these tubes.  He was also Will's biggest cheerleader, talking softly to him telling him to get strong so he could come home and teach him to fish.  And that he did indeed.  Dad has taught Will so many things, and of course fishing is one of them.  

The last 13 years, I have had the wonderful experience of seeing my boys make memories with their grandpa (my silver lining).  They have traveled with dad, learned to fish, mushroom hunt, and share moments that they will cherish forever.  They have spent every birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas together.  They have not known a first day of school without grandpa and grandma being there to wave them off.  They have spent countless hours in the garden with dad ever since they were toddlers.  They have never known life without my dad.

I am so proud of the 2 of them.  They know what is happening to grandpa.  They understand that he may forget their name, but in his heart he will never forget them.  He has too many wonderful memories to ever let that go.  And all though it is sad for them, they know that life with grandpa is different now.  They handle it better than I do at times.  They are gentle and kind with him.  They give him the same answer 100 times when asked without blinking an eye.  They don't giggle or get embarrassed when he wets himself at a baseball game. They are amazing boys.  

The other day Will asked me if grandpa will remember him when he goes to Heaven.  I told him absolutely he will.  I told him I believed that grandpa's dementia will leave his body for good once he goes to Heaven.  I truly believe this and for this, I am at peace.  

Time flies

(hard to believe this picture was taken 7 years ago,

I cry thinking about that moment, we had no idea what we were getting ready to face.)

"He is much more advanced in this than he was 6 months ago," the doctor told my mom. After routine testing, the doctor confirmed to my mom that dad's dementia had now progressed to Alzheimer's Disease. He explained to mom that it will progress even faster now and the decline in cognitive impairment and functioning is inevitable. In the beginning, the doctor told us that dad could be in this current stage of dementia for a while, maybe even a few years. So here we are, adjusting to our new normal and bam! We find out that our new normal is going to change again and probably even quicker than we think (or want).

At this moment, I can't think about what our new normal is going to look like. I can't think about the changes coming our way. And to be honest, I really just don't want to right now. Some may say I need to, and I know that in the upcoming weeks/months I am going to have to. There will be changes, new adjustments, and new normals. But for today, I am just going to let it soak in and look at the bright side of things...

The doctor tried to get my dad to talk during the appointment. He asked him several questions with no response from dad. Mom would say my dad was being stubborn, I would say my dad was hurting. I don't know if dad understands the extent of what is happening to him. But I can guarantee that he knows something is not right. I imagine that he heard a lot of words during that appointment that didn't sound uplifting or positive. But the doctor kept trying and when he asked my dad what his favorite meal was, he responded, "chicken fried steak."
My mom has never made chicken fried steak and for the last several weeks, my dad has eaten chicken fried steak when we go out for our weekly lunch date. (silver lining).

Does solitude always mean being alone?

When some people hear the word solitude, I think the mind automatically thinks lonely and/or alone. At least my mind does. But recently I have had 2 experiences where one could say I was all alone, but in reality I was not. There was no talking, no conversation to be had. Just the quietness of the moment. Complete solitude.


Lunch at Perkins this week started out rough. I knew something was off when I pulled up next to my mom and my dad was not in the car. My mom explained that dad was having a rough day and was angry with her for whatever reason and had decided to go into the restaurant. I made my way in, looking around for him and found him in a booth, seated directly at a window that was facing my mom. Not sure if it was a coincidence or not, but there were several other available seating options.


I think I scared my dad and his thoughts because when I bent down to hug him, he jumped. I asked him how he was doing and he said "not good".  And that was it. I tried to engage a few other times about the boys but he seemed so distracted by whatever it was he was thinking. So I left it alone and ate in silence. As did he. I remember sitting there and wondering if I should bring up something to try and talk about like the weather, why he was upset, or even how the food tasted? But then I realized it is ok to just sit in the moment. Sometimes those are the best of times.


The second time was over the weekend while visiting my parents. While everyone (brother, sister-in-law, nieces, and the boys) were all in the back family room, I found my dad all alone in the front living room. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting in his recliner with his hands tucked under his legs. He looked like he was in deep thought, so I didn't bother him. I sat down in the recliner and watched him. I wondered what he was thinking, if anything at all. I wondered if he was listening to the commotion in the other room and wondering what was going on. I wonder if he was trying to remember who all the people were in the house. I wondered if he was thinking about the upcoming basketball games (March Madness!!!) I was trying so hard to figure out what it was he could be thinking that I lost the importance of the moment. I got my phone out and snapped a picture of my dad. I have looked at it several times over the last week and it makes me teary. My dad may be feeling alone with this disease. Not knowing who the people surrounding you are has to be scary and lonely. Not knowing what the future holds can be scary for all, but I imagine losing your memory has to be the loneliness of all.
In that moment of solitude, I was at peace. Knowing my dad was right there with me, safe and protected was all I needed at that moment. And that solitude was fine with me. (silver lining.)

The man in the mirror

We were finally happy to hear my dad say that the "people" living in his back bathroom had finally left the coop! It was a long and painful experience to say the least. Seeing my dad point to himself in the mirror and ask us if we saw "them" was sad. That is the best way to put it. We knew he was just seeing a reflection of himself, but he was seeing my uncle, a childhood friend, and then ultimately it became someone he did not know other than a stranger that coincidentally wore the same clothes as him.

 
Different stories came and went with these house guests. Some days it was my uncle Butch living there and then other days it was his childhood friend, Phil. Before long, my uncle left and it was just the old friend. But eventually he left too. But before we counted our lucky stars, the "stranger" moved in. My dad did not care for the fact that he wore the same clothes as him. He didn't like the fact that he lived in the closet in the bathroom where he could see my mom changing and he didn't like the fact that this man was taking things that didn't belong to him.


There were also many different versions of this man. He was a prisoner at one point being kept hidden under the floor of my dads closet. Then he was a member of a secret government organization being hidden for an unknown reason. But whoever this man was, my dad honestly saw him each day.
To tell this story to a stranger, one would think we were nuts. But living with someone with dementia is a completely different way of life. At first, I knew it was hard for my mom. Hard to believe that he believed there was someone other than himself there, feeding him each day so he wouldn't starve. At first my mom was hesitant and refused to give this person food. But as time wore on, she caught on that the simple act of putting some food out for the guest after dinner not only satisfied my dad, but helped him stay calmer.

 
I can't tell this story without sharing a hilarious event that happened not long after the stranger moved in. (Sorry mom, if you are reading this!) The day that we learned that the man was following my dad to stores was back in February. I had taken my parents to a store and took dad to the bathroom. When he came out, he informed me that the man was there too. He seemed very disturbed by this and it took a long few minutes to calm his nerves. We eventually finished our shopping and returned back to mom and dad's house. At this point, my mom wasn't fully on board with acknowledging the new roommate. Her usual response to my dad was to tell him there was no one else there. I can't blame her, I didn't live 24/7 with someone who was feeding a stranger, a prisoner at that who was living under my floor boards.
Dad went to the bathroom once we were back home and he came out with this look of fear on his face. He explained that the man had followed him back to the house and he really wanted him to leave for good. So I got this brilliant idea. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head. I told dad that we should have mom go in there and tell him to leave. Dad thought it was a great idea too. So in walks mom asking what was going on. I winked at her and informed her "the man" followed us back and dad wanted him to leave. I told her who better than to tell this man off was her. She took me up on the challenge and turned on her heels and marched right back to that bathroom. My dad and I sat there in silence as we listened to mom tell the man to leave her house. That this was her house and he didn't belong there. She used some other choice words while yelling at the imaginary man, but I won't put them in writing. HA! My dad just looked at me and smiled. My mom returned to the living room with an instant look of relief and I asked, "Feel better?" and she did (silver lining). I want my mom to know that I grew a whole new respect for her in that very moment. That was a pure act of love.

Although the man has again left the house; he still follows my dad around town. He shows up in any mirror or window my dad sees. And that man he sees in the mirror may be a stranger to him, but to me...he is so much more...and he's still my superhero!

 

My dad has always worn this bracelet.  It is made from a Huey helicopter tail rotor chain.  I knew that he had got it off of a helicopter while serving in Vietnam, wore it religiously, and then had it properly made into a bracelet once he came back to the United States.  But I never really knew how he came upon it, so today at lunch I asked dad to tell me the story.  

Dad tells me that he and his platoon were walking and came upon a Huey helicopter, nose down in the jungle.  He said there were no signs of soldiers and he said they were most likely taken prisoner.  He said that his lieutenant climbed onto the tail and cut off  the rotor chain.  He said he then cut it into several smaller pieces and handed them to each of his soldiers.  From that moment, that small piece of chain never left my dads side.  

Of course, I had to dig deeper into this because why a rotor chain?  Well, come to find out, there is history behind it.  During Vietnam, soldiers who survived or came upon a helicopter crash or a "shoot down" would salvage a piece of the chain and form it into a bracelet.  The bracelet was a symbol of survival and brotherhood.  

For the rest of our lunch hour, dad told me stories of his time in Vietnam.  Some I had heard, others I had not.  He told me that every night he would pray the "Our Father" prayer.  He never missed a night.  I think to the last sentence of this prayer, "But deliver us from evil," and know that my dad was asking for protection.  Just as I ask God to protect my dad now.  

As we are walking out of Arby's, my dad tells me thank you for listening to his stories.  I look at him and tell him it was my pleasure to listen.  He will never know what these lunch dates do for my soul.  (Silver lining).