I just want to be happy

“Hi? Do you have a minute? I got the results last night. It’s Alzheimer’s,” my dad told me, five minutes before I had a meeting with the president of the company I work for. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

“Okay,” I said. “How are you doing?”

“You know, I expected this. It wasn’t a surprise. I feel okay. I feel good. I just want to be happy, I want to do the things I love and spend time with my family,” he replied.

“I have to go, I have a meeting.”

“Okay, call me later.”

And that was it. That was how I found out that my dad’s charming forgetfulness was actually Alzheimer’s. I don’t even really totally understand what Alzheimer’s is, other than it makes your memory slowly deteriorate. My brother-in-law’s dad died of Alzheimer’s in 2020 and it was really, really rough the last few years of his life. Like, heart-wrenchingly tough on my brother-in-law (who truthfully, feels more like a brother than an in-law…whatever that means), his brother and his mom. I only witnessed it from the periphery, It wasn’t my dad.

I somehow made it through my meeting without letting any tears fall down my face, at least not in an obvious way. I don’t really know what anyone said. It didn’t matter. Not to me. Not in that moment. Not now that I know one day, my dad may not know who I am one day. I was crushed. I knew this was a possibility when, a year ago, we learned that he had cognitive impairment. I knew he was forgetting things, in more obvious ways, over the last few months. He got lost on a walk, recently, in the neighborhood he’s lived in for over 40 years. Still, I was surprised by the overwhelming grief of it all.

After all, he’s still here. He not only still knows who I am, he might be the only person in the world who truly believes that I am the greatest gift the world has ever received. We have an awesome relationship. He makes me laugh like no one else. He has an awesome sense of humor. He loves to hike and play pickle ball and smoke weed (this, for me, will never get old). He’s consistently the most charming person in the room. Everyone loves being around him. My daughter and husband love him.

He’s still here.

I call him back. I ask when we can meet with the neurologist to understand what’s going on and what to expect. He doesn’t know. The call has a poor connection and I can’t really make out everything he’s saying, but I listen. He says he feels bad for making me feel sad. He isn’t making me feel sad. The idea of losing him is making me feel sad.

Of course we all lose someone, at some point.