All 23 pill bottles were lined up and the pills divvied up for the week. Dexter had pills for every illness, disease, and ailment known to man and two no one had ever heard of before. One ailment was even named after him. He wasn’t proud of all the medicine in his cabinet, but if he wanted to stay active with his nine grandkids and four great-grandkids, pills of all sizes and shapes would be his new normal.
It had been less a year since his wife of 59 years had passed, and while he missed her greatly, he looked forward every week to visiting one of his kids and their family.
“Now, Dad, you need to get these pill organizers opened and plop one into each. Not two but one,” his oldest daughter Elise had told him.
“I know, I know. One in each and only one. Every week.”
“That way…”
“I know, Elise. That way I won’t take an extra nor will I forget to take even one. You tell me that every week. You’d think I’d remember by now. If it wasn’t you, it’d have been your mother, God rest her soul.”
Elise said, “I know. I miss her too, Dad.”
“Now, remind me again your kid’s names. I get them confused with the others. I want to make sure I remember them by name each time I see them. Your mother was much better at that than I was. Maybe you can get their names tattooed on their foreheads for me.”
“Ah, you’ll remember them, Dad. They’re all yours.”
She knew he was right. His memory wasn’t getting better and there were more kids he’d have to remember as the family expanded. Elise, Jeremy, Robert, and Melissa plus all of their families was just too much for a man with a failing memory.
Elise made phone calls that week to her siblings who relayed the plan to their families.
When Dexter showed up two weeks later for his birthday party, Jeremy brought out the birthday cake and Melissa carried out all the color-coded name tags on a platter, all lined up and ready for pinning to shirts and blouses.
All of Elise’s children and grandchildren would wear the same color name tag. Melissa had a different color for her family as did Robert and Jeremy. Four different colors for the four kids and their families. Elise explained the premise to her father as he was still processing what was happening all around him.
With tears in his eyes, Dexter asked two of the children nearest him if they wanted to help Grandpa Dexter blow out the candles.
“It’s your birthday, Grandpa,” one of the kids said. “First you have to make a wish!”
“Too late. I’ve already got my wish.”
A condition of a dad's aging, handled beautifully by a grown child. Wonderful story, David.
That was a touching story, David.