question once, he’d asked it a million times. “Cancer. She died of breast cancer when I was fourteen years old. Don’t you remember?”
“No. No, I don’t remember.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
She risked his wrath by leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “You just need some rest.” Picking up the remote, she selected a sports channel. “I’ll bring you a soft drink.”
“Make it a beer and you’ve got a deal.” Gable Mistretta gave her a disarming smile.
“All right.” Anytime she saw a glimpse of the man he used to be it thrilled her. Sadly, those glimpses were few and far between. Yes, she’d been so angry at him for so long. He’d treated her mother abominably, making one mistake after another. Affairs. Broken promises. Not being there for his family as much as he could’ve been. But…those days were over. How could she hate him for his sins when the worst possible punishment he could have received had been dealt to him in spades. As she hurried to the kitchen to fetch the beer and some paper towels to clean up the mess on the floor, she could still hear her father mumbling.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just don’t know.”
Jensen didn’t know either. Not for certain. The diagnosis he’d received from the doctor was ‘early onset Alzheimer’s’. While that might be true, she believed the root of his condition lay in another direction.
“When’s my flight, Jensen? I don’t want to miss the big game.”
“You’re retired, Dad. You haven’t played football in six years,” she explained as she gave him an open can of beer, then knelt on the floor to wipe up the spilled soup. “You’re a man of leisure now.”
“Why did I retire?” He grasped his head again. “I don’t remember!” He growled. “Why don’t I remember?”
“You took a hard hit. A bad concussion.” One of the many concussions he’d received throughout the years.
“Is that why I have such trouble thinking?”
“Yes, I think that’s part of it.” A big part.
“I just can’t recall anything, honey. I feel so helpless.”
“I know you do.” He couldn’t even remember they’d had this same conversation dozens of times. Jensen rose with the dirty towels and walked to the kitchen to throw them in the garbage. As she passed the counter, she checked the time on her phone. The Home-Help nurse should be arriving any minute. “I’ve got to get ready for class, Dad.”
“What grade are you in now?”
His question made her laugh sadly. “I attend Baylor College of Medicine here in Houston. I’m going to be a doctor. A neurologist. I plan on learning all I can so I can help you and people like you.”
“Oh. That’s good. Where’s your mother?”
Jensen didn’t answer, she just shook her head. At that moment, the doorbell rang. “Mary’s here to take care of you. I’ll let her in.”
“Good. She can take me to the airport. I don’t want to miss my game.”
Jensen sighed. She wished she’d never heard of the game of football. She didn’t approve of the lifestyle most of the players led or the brutality of the sport. As far as she was concerned, her father was in the shape he was in today because he’d taken repeated hits and suffered from a half dozen concussions over the years. She couldn’t prove it, but she was certain her father was suffering from CTE. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. A progressive degenerative disease found in the brains of those who have suffered severe head trauma. Unfortunately, a positive diagnosis could only be made at an autopsy. Obviously, at that point, it was too late. Jensen feared it was already too late for her father. The man she once knew made very few appearances.
“Come in, Mary,” Jensen welcomed the caregiver.
“How’s our patient today?” The pleasant middle-aged woman took off her jacket to hang it over the back of a chair.
“He seems to be more confused than ever,” Jensen admitted as she gathered her things to leave. “I’ll be back once classes are over to give you a hand with supper.”
“Take your time.” She looked over at Gable Mistretta with kindness in her eyes. “We’ll be just fine. He’s always real gentle to me.” Mary leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Sometimes, he thinks I’m his mother.”