“Geez Louise,” my dad says to me over the phone. “When is this gonna be over? I feel like I’m under house arrest!”
“I know, Dad. But it’s going to be awhile. How are you doing?”
“I’m hanging in there. I miss you girls.”
This is the same conversation I have with my dad, every day. See, he’s sheltering in place over there to Mahoosuc Green, our senior living facility. They’ve been in lockdown for over three weeks now: no visitors, period. Two weeks ago, they stopped allowing residents into dining room, bringing meals to their apartments. And last week, we got this notice saying no care packages are allowed. Even from Amazon! Then you’ve got all these people coming and going with face masks on. It must be strange for an old duffer like him.
Dad spent his eighty-seventh birthday in his room, alone. Not much of a celebration, that’s for sure. With the help of the activities person, we tried FaceTiming him, but he just seemed confused by it. Plus, it was a surprise, so he didn’t have time to pull himself together. Hadn’t shaved, looked kinda disheveled. Broke my heart.
On the plus side, though, it’s good to know he’s safe. And thank God, we moved him from independent into assisted living back in January. It was time. Took some persuading, but my sister Irene and me are a pretty convincing a team. Plus, we have our mother pitching in from the Great Beyond.
“How long is this going the last, anyways? Another week?”
“No, Dad. It’s going to be awhile. Make yourself comfortable.”
“And what’s the deal with the masks? Everyone around here looks like a bandit. I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
Of course, he can’t. Most of the folks in Mahoosuc Green are hard of hearing and masks just make it even harder. Can’t read lips; there’s no lips to read.
As my friend Shirley says, “Aging ain’t for the faint of heart.” Well, watching someone you love age isn’t any easier. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, and it’s hard to see my father like this, a shadow of his former self. Not in the same way as my mom, with cancer. Dad’s like a photo fading in the sun. That spark he used to have, it’s flickering now. So’s his memory. Add in a walker and some Depends, and, yikes!
I was worrying about dad in the middle of the night. Then, I started worrying about Charlie, Scamp, Mahoosuc Mills, the planet Earth. Sounds silly now, I know, but not a 3:00 AM. Then I gave myself a talking to. “Ida,” I says, “most of this stuff is outta your control. You can wash your hands and all that, but you’re accomplishing nothing by worrying except getting a bad night’s sleep. That’s just gonna make matters seem worse.
Anyhoo, Irene and me call dad every day, or try to. He’s not that great on the phone. And sometimes we go to Mahoosuc Green and have a window visit. Dad’s up on the second floor, so it’s hard to see him, but he can see us. That’s what’s important.
Every once and awhile, though, he’ll be talking, and I’ll see a glimmer of my used-to-be dad, the one I grew up with.
“Can’t even get a hair cut. I’m startin’ to look like a hippie.”
“Oh, don’t even get me going on hair, Dad. Hair Affair has been closed for three weeks. I had to touch up my roots on my own. That weren’t pretty.”
“There’s nothing to do here, Ida! I’m like your dog. What’s his name? Cute little fella.”
“Scamp.”
“Scamp! That’s it. Well, I’m like Scamp. All I do is eat, sleep, and poop.”
“Well, dad, you’ve always been a good sleeper.”
“And a good pooper, too. Oh honey, when is this gonna be over?”
“I don’t know, Dad. Nobody does.”
“I miss you girls.”
“I know, we miss you, too.”
That’s it for now. Stay safe and I’ll catch you on the flip side.
Hear Ida Tell It: House Arrest
Video of the Week: From Ida’s TV show, The View from He’ah (2015)
Check out Ida’s PSA: Coronavirus Shuffle here.