I am writing this post series (previous) mainly to record the latter days of the life of my Dad, who suffers from dementia and is turning blind.
He is 90yo and otherwise in remarkable good physical health. He and Mom are still able to live independently, a state we would like to preserve for as long as possible, although last year we moved them to a more secure neighbourhood where pedestrians almost never share a road with cars.
Dad’s dementia manifests in many of the usual ways (loss of short term memory, wandering, occasional temper fits) but he’s otherwise the sweetest man. It also worsened his eyesight loss, because of poor medication compliance. Together with my brothers and sister we try to support them when required.
Given Dad’s penchant for long walks (which are very good for his health) we gave him a GPS tracker to locate him when he gets lost. Normally this is not much of a problem: villagers are starting to recognize him and when he looks lost, a gentle soul will point him in the right direction or even walk him home, where he (of course) never admits to Mom he got lost.
However, this tracker thingy is not particularly welcome: he calls it “my leash” and if he’s in a bad day he will happily “forget” it home. Yesterday was one of these days and we had to wait a couple of hours until the local Carabinieri station called me, thanks to a reference card I stuck in his wallet.
When I arrived to fetch him, I had the idea of pretending the Carabinieri were angry at him because he had left home without the tracker: the Duty Officer (a young lady) immediately catched my drift and ceremoniously wrote a lengthy report while delivering a mild reprimand, making him promise never to leave the tracker at home ever again.
This morning Mom called me saying he went out asking her for the tracker because “he did not want the police to be mad at him again”.