I wish for more sleep and less reflection

http://www.dayswithmyfather.com/

It's almost as if Phillip Toledano tore out the heart of any of us that's had a relative with dementia. I can't get through it without losing my shit, in fact the furthest I've come without breaking down is #18 -- "I want to think seriously about what I can accomplish with what's left of my life."

I remember so well the first time my grandmother turned to me and said "Where's B.?" and I knew she wasn't referring to my father. How does one answer that? Honestly, Half-honestly, humorously? "I miss him," she replied after I simply told her he was gone. "I hope I'll see him soon."

Months later I remember braiding her hair, which had grown out longer than I'd ever seen it and was as soft as a baby's. It was the only way I knew how to show her I loved her -- at least that she'd have evidence of after I'd left the room. I hoped she'd know that she was cared for, that she wasn't alone in the nightmare of the unraveling of her very brilliant mind. I remember putting her to bed and turning the light out, standing over her with my family in the dark. I felt I'd never see her again (I wouldn't) and I started to cry. In a stroke of brilliance she opened her eyes and said "What are y'all standing around for?" in her perfect, proper Southern accent.

When I need a push in the right direction I'll replay that in my head... What are you standing around for? Do something. Do it now. What are you going to accomplish with what's left of your life?