I’m helping my dad, BOB, 92, organize his medications. He has two day-of-week organizers, morning and night, brimming with many colored pills of various shapes and sizes. From memory, he describes the chemicals and purpose of each (he reads all the fine print). Suddenly he has a smirk on his face. I ask him, “what’s up?” And he recounts a “discussion” between his sister FAY and mother, ALICE, when she was in her 90’s. Alice hadn’t been taking her prescribed medications:
FAY
“Mamma, you know you gotta do what the doctor says.”
ALICE
(uninterested)
“Uh-huh.”
FAY
(agitated)
“Mamma, you gotta take the medications to stay healthy!”
ALICE
(resigned)
“Sure.”
FAY
(hands up)
“Oh for gods sake! What am I gonna do with you?”
ALICE
(smirking)
“Well, you’ll just hafta put me up for adoption.”
And in that instant, I can see my grandmother in my dad.