Dad can’t sit up by himself. Nor can he read or write any more. Often needs help eating, and most of his food needs to be within a very narrow consistency and range of ingredient. He spends 18 hours a day in bed and is at constant risk for bed sores.
He has requested to be resuscitate if his heart stops, the wisdom of which I questioned.
The other day on the way home from dialysis, I asked him if there were any periods of his life that were particularly challenging. His responses are often quite brief and belabored. He replied, “No. I’ve had a pretty good life so far.”
Two nights ago he said to mom, “You know, me and you are getting pretty old to still be alive. Especially me. Wanna have a drink together?”
To which the answer was of course, “yes”.