Back from Christmas. When I'm asked how my father is, I don't know what to say really.
He's terrible, of course, and getting worse every day. And the worsening is happening faster and faster. When you drop a rock off a cliff, it eventually achieves terminal velocity. This is the opposite -- it just continues to accelerate.
What can you say? It's Alzheimer's. In some ways it's better than you've heard and others worse than you can imagine. And it's barely begun. It's been over for a while and it won't be done for years.
I guess, ultimately, people aren't so much interested in exactly how my my father is. I suppose they're expressing their concern or asking how I am. And that's nice, but still, I don't really have an answer, or one I can or feel like putting in words.
I'm terrific, right? I'm not him. And, better yet, I'm not the one there responsible for him, day to day. I'm getting off scot-free. I'm the smooth criminal.
And that is that.