It started off like any other visit. Whoever is available to visit dad will carpool or meet at the VA and enter the main entrance where we sign in and fill out nametags for ourselves. As we walked down the ramp to the reception area, we realized we were walking in on a situation. It took a brief moment to realize it was a deceased body on a gurney, surrounded by what seemed to be family members. They were all quiet while a staffer folded up an American flag and presented it to them. I suppose this sort of thing happens all the time, but it was the first time we witnessed it. I heard my niece quietly ask, "did that person die?" and it all felt so real. This is probably the last place most of these veterans will ever know. This could be us one day. It was comforting that this veteran obviously had family when I'll bet not everyone there does. I was glad we were all there for dad.
After we checked in, dad was in his usual chair in his unit waiting area, jacket on, ready to go. I wonder if he wears that jacket every single day. I wonder if he sits there waiting for us every day as well. He still seems to have a good understanding of weekdays vs weekends, so that's a small comfort. He greeted us with his usual laugh and smile and instantly asked about the usual routine of if we brought him some cigarettes and that he's just dying to play some pool.
Some days he's really good, this particular day as well. It's hard because I'll sometimes wonder why he's there and then he'll get into one of his OCD modes and it soon becomes apparent we made the right decision. It's just a shame he can't get out more but it makes our visits that much more special. He didn't stop and point out as much this time and it's almost funny because we come to expect the same comments each time - stopping to look at photos of the newest residents on the wall, stopping to look at the recently deceased list of residents, complete with his commentary of "I hope I never see myself on there, but then again, I won't be around to see it.", etc. He'll point out some of the posters and art and funny signs too about "hot beer, lousy service" that he gets a kick out of, and when this doesn't happen, we almost miss it! I've even pointed things out to him because I was expecting his commentary. I guess this shows we will never tire of this and will cherish the repetition and his tour guide ways for as long as possible.
Dad still shoots pool very well and jokes about the butt-kicking he'll be unleashing on any of us who try to play. He played several games with my brother-in-law, while my sister and I played with the kids. Then I noticed something that took me back in time. Before the diagnosis, dad went through a phase where he hardly noticed or acknowledged the kids. He seems a little better now but when I watched him walk past my nephew and pat him on the head, it reminded me of dad from a long time ago - his way of letting you know he sees you. It was cute and made him seem normal again.
But it doesn't take long to realize he's there for good reason and no matter how busy we all are, it always ends up being a nice visit and good time. It gets dad out and moving around and helps him interact more. There are a couple weekday visits coming up soon. First, there is a picnic for the veterans that we just missed out on in July, so we are going to take him to the August one. And the following week is his next quarterly assessment. Last quarter we got a pretty good report on him, so we're hoping for the same this time. We will hang on to these while we can.
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