February, 2011
One of the graces of dealing with Alzheimer's is that comedy sometimes sits astride tragedy, a white knight on a black horse.
My father and I spent an hour of a lazy Sunday afternoon sitting on a bench beside a small pond in my back yard. The weather was beautiful and we chatted comfortably the whole time. Most of what he said was unintelligible to me and vice versa, but his demeanor seemed to indicate that he was enjoying my company. That was good enough for me.
After about an hour, he looked over at me and asked, "What does your father do for a living?"
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