The phone rang. My husband sighed.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
There were no doctors’ appointments, no pharmacy runs. Their community fed them and offered activities.
Alzheimer’s did not care.
“What? Your car fob battery died? Someone took it apart? Read me the number.”
He held the phone away from his ear. I heard “washing machine” and “clock alarms” before he signed off.
“He doesn’t understand. I have to…”
“Go,” I said. Then I asked him, “When are they going to take away his keys? How much longer must we endure these demands?”
“As long as he needs me,” my husband replied.