my...um...person I take care of.

I took Jeff to the Hair Cuttery today for a trim. I’m never quite sure how they perceive us at such places...can they tell he’s impaired? Is my behavior--as “director” of the expedition--coming across as unnecessarily managerial, or is it clear that someone needs to be at the helm, and it’s not Jeff?

Sometimes, even when an appointment or similar starts out nebulous, by the end I’m sure they know. I sat with Jeff’s coat and played “Spider: Bryce Manor” on my iPhone while the overly bleached hair lady took care of Jeff, but when he was done and clearly perplexed about which direction to walk in, there was no sign of misunderstanding on the hair cutter’s part when I stepped up to pay.

Meanwhile, as I focused mainly on the transaction, I noticed a fellow customer--a women about 60--helping Jeff to put on his coat. This surprised me. Not that an observant person wouldn’t spot the problem with his fumbling, but that someone would be so quick to act. I finished paying, and thanked the coat-lady for helping Jeff. “Your father?” she said. We’re getting this occasionally now. A few weeks ago, when the vet led us into the back of the animal hospital to view Otis’ belly x-rays, she briefly referred to Jeff as “Pop.” “Come on Pop.” Someone could construe that as rude, but it was clearly meant to be a friendly gesture. I took no offense, and Jeff didn’t even notice.

Meanwhile, “no,” I said to the coat-helping lady. “My husband. But whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re correct.” (She could, of course, have been thinking that we’re Brangelina...but I doubt it.) “Yes,” she replied. “My friend’s father is like that.”

Jeff did not take a speck of that exchange in, fortunately. As much as it is important to give what autonomy and acknowledgment you can to an Alzheimer’s person, it is also true that you can often talk about him to another person, completely circumventing his ability to realize that he’s the subject.

But my father, eh? Mom told me she thought that would start to happen. Jeff has always been very youthful looking for his age, so--despite our 14 year age gap--he has almost never been taken for my father. Confusion ages people. And there’s a thing about eyes, which you may not pay so much attention to until you’ve been intimately involved with Alzheimer’s. But intelligence and focus beam right through our optical orbs like a laser and, when it is gone in a loved one, you become a keen observer of it in others--particularly others who may be older than your faded loved one.

Then there’s me, too. I guess I look about exactly the right age to be classic sandwich generation. If you had to peg me vis-a-vis Alzheimer’s, you’d presume it’s a parent I’m caring for, not a spouse. Ok.