nodded. Dad’s early-onset dementia had deteriorated so rapidly that he lived in the local memory-care ward in town. It was difficult, but with the four of us as broken as we were and Aunt Tootie unable to care for her brother herself, we’d made the choice to provide him the nursing care he needed. The thought of a fifty-eight-year-old man requiring full-time nursing care ate at me, especially when I thought about all the times he was lucid. Himself. Until I thought about how upsetting it was when he wasn’t. Confused. Angry. Scared.
