In his workshop, Alzheimer’s fades and the father I knew returns
The Boston Globe, October 16, 2024
My father runs his fingers across the wood plate he’s sanding. He holds it toward me, eyes sparkling.
“Is that ever smooth. Feel that.”
I lean forward and feel. He’s 91 years old and has Alzheimer’s, so I return his expression — eyebrows raised, smile genuine — and say, “That is smooth!”
All his life, my father had worked with his hands farming fields, laying stone walls, building furniture, and raising a family. When Alzheimer's and age robbed him of this, he became bored. So I searched for what he could do — sand. Now, we sit nearly knee to knee in his cluttered workshop, where I hold onto tightly to a wood plate I'm sanding and any lucid connections to the father I once knew.