One issue stuffed in a crisis envelope. This stressed, mental note has been finding its destination in my voicemail recently. More than three times these past two weeks, my dad has been calling about this one recurring problem.
I am happy to hear his voice. It doesn’t matter to me what the issues are. Most times, one particular problem occupies his mind – and we address it together when I can. This time, however, a challenge has him on edge more than normal.
And we haven’t solved it as of this post.
His electric razor has walked away. Gone the way of bladed glory, as it were. Apparently, it couldn’t be shaved from imminent banishment.
Multiple messages. I feel his pain when he calls. What’s he supposed to do? Limited capacity all-around is his world now. These little inconveniences to us are big deals to him. His life is, quite literally, razor thin. One small detail out of place – for a man who lived his life in control of everything and was extremely organized – is so alarming and frustrating.
I get it. This is why I do everything I can do to meet him where he is in his world. He says, “I can pay for a new razor”, I say, “Sounds good to me. We can go get one when I’m free. It will be soon, dad.”.. “I don’t know what happened to my razor. It’s missing..”. “I know, dad. Thanks for letting me know. We’ll solve this together.”
These are the few times I’ve been able to answer my phone. Most times: rinse and repeat – just without a response.
Did get an hour to go out for lunch yesterday with him. I could tell he was a bit emotionally nicked up due to a blade razor shave earlier in the day. Simply not his comfort zone. A triple-head, electric razor, clean shave has no equal for him. With few pleasantries left in his early morning routine, dad should have an enjoyable four-score+ facade trim. He deserves at least that.
We will, probably, never know to where the elusive Braun ran off. It’s conceivable there was a charger conspiracy in the facility. Probably they needed an outlet for their frustrations and took the razors hostage. We’ll await their demands.
In the meantime, Dad’s on edge, for sure. He and I will fix this. One mental note will be answered with a few kind words, some dad and son time at Best Buy with another lunch to follow, and a less-stressed father returning to a happier state of mind.
For now.
This is dementia. A world most of us don’t understand. If we are in the throws of it ourselves, we won’t understand it then, either. What a freakin’ mess.
It’s a mess I don’t mind cleaning up every time dad needs me. In person, or through a phone call, we mop up the problems one at a time … together.
If this is what what it takes to navigate his razor thin lines, I’ll help him. Every, Single, Triple-Headed crisis at a time.
