Tattered

Tattered

They say a person’s eyes are the window to the soul.  If that is the case then my Dad’s soul left him way before his body gave out.
Mom pushed dad up to the table in his wheelchair. He looked so old, tired, and drained. He was just a shell of the man that had once tossed me on his shoulders.

“Come on…you need to eat,” Mom said while holding a spoon full of mush up to his mouth. She looked as old and tired as he did.
Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s the year before and he was going fast.  He got weaker with each passing day and remembered a little less.

It was noon now, but dad was still in his pajamas with his favorite tan and white robe wrapped around him.  He had had it for so many years that it was now worn and tattered, matching its owner.

Dad opened his mouth slowly and Mom fed him dutifully.  I reached over and held his hand.  He looked over at me slowly a weak smile formed. “Hi, Suz.”

“Hi Dad,” I said as I started to roll the sleeves up on his robe.  As he had gotten sicker and not wanting to eat, he lost weight. The robe had become about two sizes too big for him and the sleeves would get in the way whenever he tried to feed himself and would get caught on the arm of the wheelchair.

“Why don’t you get him another robe?” I asked mom.

“He has other ones, but he likes this one.”

“But, it is just so old and big for him.”

“If you think you can get him to wear another one, young lady, then you go right ahead and give it a try.” Mom’s voice was haggard from years of smoking and sounded even worse when she was upset, as she was with me being so annoying.

I went into Dad’s room and fumbled through his closet.  Mom was right; he had about three different robes hanging up.  I grabbed a dark blue one and noticed it still had the tags on it.

“How about this one, Dad?” I held up the robe. “Let’s put this robe on you.  It looks a lot nicer.”

Although dad had not said much all day, he said forcefully, “No, I like this one.”

“But dad, this one is smaller and we won’t have to roll it up.”

He shook his head. “You wear it.”
I laughed a little, “Fine, Dad.  You wear that old ratty thing if you want.”

I started to walk away when I heard him mumble, “Tell me what to do.” 

It was a cold rainy day, not long after that, when we lost dad.

That old tattered robe is even more tattered now, since I wear it at night to keep me warm.  Each time I put it on I feel his presence with me and looking after me as he always did when I was growing up.