They both looked at me.
“Tom, you have every right to be part of decisions about your life. Every right. But being frightened of losing your home does not mean you can pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”
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He said nothing.
I turned to Jen. “And making plans without him was always going to feel like betrayal, even if you meant protection.”
Jen let out a shaky breath. “What choice did I have?”
“Making plans without him was always going to feel like betrayal.”
“That’s what I’d like to discuss with you,” I said. “Both of you. Please.” I locked eyes with Jen. “I used to be a nurse. And I just want to help.”
She held my gaze for a long moment, then glanced at Tom.
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“It’s my house,” Tom said. “And I want to hear what she has to say.”
We went inside. Tom sat down heavily in the living room and muttered something under his breath. Jen went to the kitchen to make tea, and I slipped into the room behind her.
She turned to study me. “Who are you, anyway?”
I gave her my name, explained how I’d met Tom, and told her about my nursing experience, particularly with older patients.
Once I finished speaking, she leaned against the counter and sighed. “Is this… dementia?”
“Who are you, anyway?”
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“I’m not a doctor, and I’m not trying to diagnose Tom. I just want you both to know that an assisted living facility isn’t your only option here. In-home care might be best for right now.”
She nodded, then looked at me carefully. “He listened to you. More than he listens to me lately.”
That hurt her to say. I could hear it.
“Thank you,” she continued. “For getting through to him. For sticking around to help a couple of strangers.”
“I’m just glad I was at the store today.”
When we went back into the living room, Tom was gone.
“He listened to you.”
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Jen’s face drained. “Dad?”
No answer. The front door stood open.
She grabbed her keys. “I’ll drive around the neighborhood.”
“I’ll walk,” I said.
My feet took me toward the park three blocks over. Tom was on a bench under a maple tree, hands folded, looking across the pond. I sat beside him.
No answer. The front door stood open.
“Maeve and I used to come here every Sunday. She liked the trees.” He looked up into the branches. Then he sighed. “Truth is, I know I’m not the same. I forget things, I lose track of what I’m doing…”
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“It’s brave of you to admit it,” I said.
“I just know when I’m beat. Without Maeve’s schedules, lists, and labels… I’m drowning. And now I’m going to lose the house where we lived and loved each other for 54 years.”
“Oh, Tom.”
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