The house is superficially clean. And the Christmas tree has come out and is decorated with delicate blue lights for the first time since Rachel died. But the basement garage has been claimed by the spiders, and the swimming pool has become a Petri dish of leaves and ice. Dad is 71 and he looks and thinks every day of it. Since Rachel died in 2009 he’s been, I should say, distracted.
Every day I have seen him in the past two years he has worn the same sweater. It is stained with… something. His favorite jacket is stained with… something.
We went shopping today. First I took him to Target. Four pairs of khakis (38×29) and a dozens of pairs of socks and undershirts and underwear. Then to Men’s Wearhouse, and then to a shoe store for three pairs of new shoes.
Then to a pizza place (Lola’s) that I found on Yelp. He told me he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten pizza.
It’s the best I can do for him at this point.
I can’t stay here anymore. I need to head over to see my Mom tomorrow.
