Oh yeah, I still got it

I went to see Dad after work. As usual, he was in the dining room. He hadn't eaten much of his dinner, just a few vegetables and his dessert. I tried to get him to eat a little more meat but after a couple bites he did the classic toddler avoidance moves. Then he said, "Hey, where are my dirty cookies?" I said, "You mean dessert?" He must have had brownies tonight. Dad's aphasia was in full swing. I told him he had already eaten them. I got the uke out and started to play for him.

He almost always has the same man sitting next to him. His name is Mr. Hammond (Jim would be amused) and he's always out of it, like, totally. One of the staff will come by every once in a while and try to wake him up to take a bite, and he'll usually refuse it. One day when I was there he was sitting there with his head down muttering, "Jesus... Jesus...oh shit, oh shit.... Jesus", etc. Then he perked up and listened to my playing and said, "Hey, you're pretty good on that thing." Well, I was glad to see he wasn't permanently vegged out.

Tonight while I was playing, and Dad was singing along, and Mr. Hammond was muttering, another man came in and sat at our table. He was visiting his wife, who must be in the end stages of something because she's just plain non-responsive. We had a very nice conversation. He asked me if Dad taught me to sing and I said, "Oh yeah", which was kind of a lie because Mom was the one who taught me to sing. Dad taught me how to draw. I said, "He's a very good singer. He was a Barbershopper and he was in a group that won the world championship." Then I started singing Alexander's Ragtime Band, which is one of the ooold Barbershop songs I always heard when I was little. Dad perked right up and sang with me and got pretty much all of the words. I was impressed. Then Mr. Hammond joined in, singing loud and smiling. I said, "Hey, Mr. Hammond! You know that song! Well, I'm going to have to look up the chords so I can play it for you next time." Mr, Hammond smiled and said, "You've got beautiful boobies."

I laughed and said, "Um, well, thank you!" The other man at the table said, "Couldn't you tell her she has beautiful lungs, because she's such a good singer?" I guess not, because Mr. Hammond said it again. "You've got beautiful boobies." So, ok, I guess it's time to go.

I got up and packed up my stuff. One of the nurses came by with her cart and said, "Mr. Hammond, I have to check your vitals" and started taking off his jacket. He said, "Ow! You're hurting my balls! Get your hands off my balls! Jesus! Shit!" The nurse pretty much ignored this. By the time she was done I was all packed up and giving Dad a hug goodbye. Again Mr, Hammond said, "You've got beautiful boobies." Dad got pretty mad then. He said, "You're not... you don't know... you're not going to get out of here alive!" Still pretty aphasic, but his message was clear. Clear to everyone except Mr. Hammond, who just sat there smiling. I said, "It's ok, Dad. It's ok, don't worry about it. I'm sure he meant it as a compliment." I hugged him again and left.

Anyone who saw me walking to my car might have thought I was an escapee from Skilled Nursing, because I was giggling so hard I know I looked like a crazy person.