by Nan Keltie

Created on: May 07, 2008   Last Updated: June 10, 2008

My Other Dad

I am in the car with my father-in-law, driving him to another cardio-pulmonary therapy session. He rides quietly most of the time, but now and then something will trigger a memory or he'll see something he finds quite profound.

"Wow," he whistles, "that's a big truck."

He's referring to the 18-wheeler beside us. Rolling slowly forward, its driver anticipates the traffic light changing to green. With a whoosh and a lurch, it resumes its journey as we zip on past.

Dad - as I call him - has COPD, or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. He also deals on a daily basis with short-term memory loss. This explains why the comments he makes today are a carbon copy of his comments two days ago ... and those of the days and weeks before that. I can almost predict what he will say, depending on where we are as we drive to therapy.

"That field looks about ready for planting," he observes again today as we pass.

On the main boulevard, Dad spies an auto dealership, and wonders (again) "how those businesses can afford to invest in so many cars sitting on their parking lots!" A few lights later, we pass a certain intersection where he reminds me that this area was nothing but dirt roads when his Papa let him ride along to town one day.

"I was about five years old, if I remember correctly."

He's right, I'm sure, because his memories of long ago are just as fresh as the actual event in his mind. It is the more recent events he has trouble wtih. My father-in-law lives next door to us, and he's aged a lot since my husband's mother died. Dad is an intelligent man that doesn't actually talk a lot, but when he does, I try to listen.

Every morning he reads the newspaper faithfully, and we often discuss it on our drive. Because he was a Marine in World War II, he is supportive of our stance in the Middle East. He follows the weather forecast, local news and keeps up on world events. One thing that bothers him is the detailed reports of family violence. He is especially shocked at the awful things parents do to their young children and step-children. Today he comments on one such article, and I sense just how deep his grief goes.

A few moments later he switches to a happier subject. Dad had ten brothers and three sisters, and he loves to recall details of their life on their Papa's farm. They didn't have much, but he particularly enjoys telling about the time his Mama fed them all with one can of salmon.

"She traded some eggs for that salmon," his eyes twinkle, "and that night

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>