When he was a boy of only 7, his father had taken him sailing on a lake. They raised the sails and once in the middle of the lake, his father let him handle the tiller to steer.
“All right, you’re the skipper now! His father had bellowed with a huge smile on his face. Ever since then, his father had called him Skipper.
Today was a beautiful fall morning, the type his father loved.
He used to say “I would never move to Florida, I love the change of seasons too much.”
His father always waited for the first snow of the season and was so excited to tell everyone it had come each year.
He sat at his father’s bedside as he had done every possible waking moment since his dementia diagnosis 6 years ago.
He was still sleeping, and the window was open, with a cool 50 degree breeze blowing over both of them now.
Dementia is a thief, and it had been almost those entire 6 years since his father recognized him.
He held his father’s hand and watched as the blanket rose up and down along with his gentle respirations.
It was his father’s 98th birthday today.
Skipper looked out the window for a moment and suddenly he felt his father’s hand tighten around his.
He looked back at his father, and his eyes were suddenly his father’s eyes, the before-dementia-eyes.
His father raised his hand and put it softly on his son's cheek.
He said “You’re a good boy Skipper. I love you. We were blessed the day God gave you to us. I'm going to be with your mother now. She's waited a long time.”
He had that huge “sailing on the lake” smile on his face.
He hugged his father intensely. The joy he was feeling was indescribable.
"I love you so much dad."
When he sat back up, dad’s empty, glassy dementia-eyes were back and he stared into the nothingness with his head cradled by the pillow.
His love for Skipper was so intense God allowed him to break through his dementia to recognize him one last time, and to tell him he loved him.
His dementia-eyes closed and his heart stopped beating, but the smile remained.
Happy Birthday Dad. Tell Mom I miss her.
