But my hold on my mental health was tenuous. My father’s dementia had progressed and left him with delusions and the inability to control bodily functions. He needed someone nearby all the time, a responsibility that fell to my mom and me. A couple of times a week, she dropped him off at my apartment on her way to teach at a college north of the city. I would feed him, get him to the toilet, change a diaper if needed, help him get on and off the bed. She was usually back by five thirty so I could be in the city by seven. One Wednesday when she wasn’t back by six fifteen, I broke down, crying
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