Public Story
The Last Time We Were Here
In the summer of 2013, it become evident that something was wrong with my Dad’s memory. He was living alone on a sailboat in Fort Lauderdale. None of my siblings had seen him for several years. It was at a family gathering in Brooklyn in 2014 where we began to understand the magnitude of my father’s condition. Twenty minutes into our holiday dinner, my Dad said he wanted to “get going, to feed the cats.” He was unable to grasp that he was 1300 miles away from home. It would be another year before we could persuade him to leave his sailboat and relocate near a family member. I was the family member that lived in a climate most appealing to my Dad, and thus, I became his primary caregiver.
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