Windward Review Vol. 20 (2022): Beginnings and Endings

steady my breath. Dad was gone. I scanned
the store—he was nowhere in sight. We
split up into two groups and searched the
store, but there was no sign of him. We
moved outside and began to inspect the
shopping mall. We searched the adjacent
stores and parking lot, asking passersby
if they had seen him. No one had. Fearing
the worst, we decided to call the police.
Hours passed, and when it became
evident that he was not in the area, a police
officer approached me and said, “Ma’am,
go home and wait for a call from the police
department.” I feared the worst as I walked
to the car with tears streaming down my
face and my double breathing teetering on
the verge of hyperventilating. That’s when
another police officer appeared tenderly
cradling a bedraggled, elderly gentleman.
It was him! Dad’s face was as red as a
summer ripe tomato, and his bright white
hair stood straight up on his head. He
resembled a sunburned, disheveled Albert
Einstein! I burst into nervous laughter.
We never found out what exactly
happened that afternoon. We imagined
that Dad must have convinced someone
that he needed a ride. Then, when it
became apparent that he was not in his
right mind, they returned him to the
shopping mall. Or, maybe Dad just climbed
into the back of a parked pickup truck, and
once the driver noticed him in the back,
they brought him back to the shopping
mall. All we know is that he rode in the
back of a pickup truck for god knows how
many miles, white hair flying in the hot,
stagnant, sticky Houston air.
Later that year, Mom and Dad
came to visit during the holidays. I knew
Mom wanted to stay. I knew she wanted
help with him, and being a stay-at-home
mom, I felt I could offer her that. I thought
between us, we could manage him.
However, it quickly became apparent that
taking proper, round-the-clock care of him
was impossible. The time I was awakened
in the middle of the night to find him going
from room to room as he lit matches to see
in the dark because he didn’t remember
that he could turn the light on with the
flick of a switch was the moment that I
knew we had to do something.
We began to discuss professional
care in a nursing home. It took months
of Dad’s crazy behaviors and many family
discussions to finally make the painful
decision. The decision was only made
worse by my sister’s reaction to the news.
She berated my mom as only she could
do. Mom was devastated and depressed,
but ultimately she knew what she had to
do, and not even my sister’s hurtful words
and actions would keep her from doing the
right thing for her husband of over fifty
years. And finally, after much research and
government bureaucracy, we settled on a
beautiful new facility just minutes from
home. We knew it was best for him, but our
hearts hurt from the thought of leaving
him in a strange place with unfamiliar
people. We explained, over and over, what
his new living situation would be, but he
just didn’t understand.
We arrived at the nursing home
with big smiles to disguise our heavy
hearts. It was a beautifully decorated,
serene place, and Dad loved all the
attention from the female nurses. Mom
and I spent the entire day getting him
settled in and showing him around the
grounds. Then, when it came time to leave,
he resisted very little, but enough to drain
us of what little we had left in us to keep it
together. “¿Me vas a dejar aqui solito?”
he asked us, and the question shattered
my heart into a million pieces. That night,
however, I slept like a baby, not having to
listen for the sounds of him wandering the
house or backyard. It felt good to know he
was safe and in good hands.
The nurses and staff became
family, and as time passed, it became our
home away from home. I could bring him
home on the weekends for the first few
years. Dad would enjoy home-cooked
meals and outings with the family, and
most importantly, he would spend quality
time with Mom, cuddling, watching
telenovelas, and working in the garden.
The time came when he could no
longer manage the step into the garage
from the house. I watched as my husband
tenderly picked him up and carried him to
the car. At that moment, I knew this would
be one of his last visits to the house. After
that, the visits home began to dwindle.
Every weekend turned into a couple of
times a month, which turned into once a
month, which turned into holidays, which
eventually turned into one-way visits—
from us to him.
Dad began to share with me that
he was ready to die. “Ya mija quiero
morir, estoy listo,” he would tell me. Mom,
however, refused to accept this. As a result,
he would be in and out of hospitals for
months. Finally, on one occasion, arriving
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Windward Review Volume 20