The marmalade is with the glasses. Definitely not the strangest thing to be misplaced. That would be my dad. That’s hard to say, so instead it’s typed. There’s always “odd ones” out in all categories around the house, a consistent reminder of how they got there. He will say it was someone else that put it there a lot of the time. I know he gets tired of his reminders that his mind fails him. I know his true self has fallen deep in there with times there are stories he can finish, names he can better recall (he was always shit with names), words that come out how he means them, words that stay in because he understands not everything should be aloud. I haven’t seen that man in a while. I haven’t been the most patient with this one, I get pissed off. A child throwing a tantrum. “Where’s my dad?!” I know he’s here. Just not as I’ve known him. This is the other father, the older father, the sick father. I pat his back, bring him surprise chocolates, ask about his day, worry about where he drives, how he drives, how long until he loses that dignity, ask what he’s looking for, break down the words that aren’t fitting his mind’s constant puzzle, find the misplaced item. Remind myself this is the best it will be, hold onto the glimpses that come through. Be patient, be present, be understanding, be kind. Put the marmalade back in the pantry. Miss my dad.













