POB spent some time with Dad yesterday.  He kept telling her that he doesn’t feel as if he is home, even when he is sitting in his living room.  His living room for 50 years.

Often, he says, he gets confused and wonders: “How am I going to get home from here?”  And then either he remembers or his aide (or one of us) reminds him, “you are home.”  Then he relaxes.  But this repeats throughout the days.

Last night, when POB told me about the conversation, I had an unusual panic.  Does “home” mean something different for Dad?

Even though this has been Dad’s home for more than half of his life, Mom isn’t there, and his memories are hard to tease out of the recesses of his mind.  His kids visit, but we don’t live there anymore.  There are lovely aides helping him, but they are strangers.

Daddy, please stay just a little longer with us.  If “home” is some place else, don’t go “home” just yet.  Ok?  Stay here with us.  Because here is still where you live.