I visited my dad the other day in his new facility. It always catches my heart to see him–I’ve never quite gotten used to how impaired he has become. As pleasant and inviting as the facility is…well, it is still an Alzheimer’s facility. You walk past a lot of people in various stages of the disease.

Once I get over that initial clutch in your stomach feeling, then I can face the reality. The new reality.

It’s really a very nice environment–clean, large sunporch, lots of paintings on the walls and a day filled with short group activities. A little like preschool.

There’s even a “snoozle” room for naps. A cozy looking couch in a semi-dark room, with soft music playing.

Dad was on the sunporch when we arrived, chatting with a lovely woman about who know’s what?! Makes sense to them…but no one else. However, his face lit up with recognition when he saw my sister and me.

Dad’s room is a corner room with lots of light. My brothers hung pictures that Dad’s aunt had painted of the East Coast (Dad is a died-in-the-wool Yankee). He doesn’t remember that his aunt painted them, but…still. It’s a nice touch.

My sister double-checked the stops on the window. Sure enough, Dad had broken them off. Fortunately, there’s a screen, but he’s on the third floor! My sister hurried down the hall to inform the floor manager.

Sheesh! It takes a village to manage this guy!

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