August 29: Golliwog, Unstuck Mind, Memory Wing

The barbershop quartet on the airplane was singing, "Wait Till the Sun Shines, Nelly," when the plane smacked into the top of Sugarbush Mountain, Vermont.  Everybody was killed but Billy and the copilot.  So it goes.

The people who first got to the crash scene were young Austrian ski instructors from the famous ski resort below.  They spoke to each other in German as they went from body to body.  They wore black wind masks with two holes for their eyes and a red topknot.  They looked like golliwogs, like white people pretending to be black for the laughs they could get.

Billy had a fractured skull, but he was still conscious.  He didn't know where he was.  His lips were working, and one of the golliwogs put his ear close to them to hear what might be his dying words.

Billy thought the golliwog had something to do with World War Two, and he whispered to him his address:  "Schlachthof-funf."

Billy hasn't jumped in time.  He's surrounded by people speaking German, and he has a head injury.  He thinks he's back in Slaughterhouse Five, maybe after the bombing of Dresden.  He knew his plane was going to crash.  He knew he was going to survive, too.  Yet, he's unstuck in time and memory.

My father is still in the hospital downstate.  He's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.  Currently, we are working on a discharge plan.  That plan involves placement in the memory wing of a nursing home.  My father is not going to take this news well.  He's a very proud man.  Admitting that his mind is somehow unstuck is not something he'll do.  Ever.

I know that this moment has been coming for quite some time.  His behavior has changed quite a bit over the last year.  More forgetfulness.  More angry physical outbursts.  More limitations.  Yet, it's difficult for me to think of him so diminished.  As I've said in previous posts, my dad has always been larger than life in my eyes.  Strong.  Invincible.  Immortal, almost.

I know my situation isn't unusual.  Many adult children have to face this decision when the needs of their parents become too much to handle at home.  Perhaps it would be more of a blessing if my father's mind were a little more unstuck, so that he wouldn't realize what's happening.  Maybe it already is.  For all I know, my father has been time jumping since I was a baby.  That would be a blessing.

Me?  I'm stuck in the present, which kind of sucks right now.

Tonight, Saint Marty is having a hard time finding something to be thankful for, except the spaghetti he had for dinner.