At 11:15 Thursday morning dad called:

'Mike, are you coming over today?'
'No, I might come tomorrow.'
'I don't know what to do. I'm worried sick.'
'About what?'
'Your mum's still in bed, and I don't know... I could get some milk I suppose, and then there's the food situation.'
'What food situation?'
'Well, I hope we get meals on wheels...'
'Of course you will.'
'I don't know. It just really worries me.'
'What does, dad?'
'Things in general.'
'OK, well...'
'Goodbye then.'
'Wait, dad! Don't hang up.'
'What?'
'Have you tried making mum a cup of tea and taking that in to her?'
'She's still asleep.'
'But she might get up if you take her some tea.'
'Well, all right. I'll do that.'
'And...'
'Right. Goodbye.'*

When I was young and dad was in his prime, he would have rebuked me for 'being all pathetic' if I'd talked like this. Every word of his is now infused with the need for my company and the desire to keep me at their house for as long as possible. He repeated says how much he enjoys and appreciates me being there, and tries to think of reasons for extended each of my visits. Hardly a day goes by without him phoning me to ask if I am going over.

I've gone through phases. At first it was such a novelty to realise that dad wanted me to visit that I used to drop everything and drive over. It was fun to have honoured guest status. (Although there were times when I had arrived and been asked 'what's the occasion? To what do we owe this visit?') Then I began to meter my time, and for a while dad accepted this. Now he doesn't accept it any more. His own problems have assumed a scale that outweighs his consideration of my convenience which was, for a while, part of his calculations. Now he just pleads for company. He is being all pathetic.

We still expect a lot more from dad than we do from mum, and maybe this is our mistake. We don't get cross with mum any more, but I've seen all of us do it with dad. Maybe, given his current state, it is time we grew out of this. He is obviously developing the generalised anxiety of Alzheimer's. It is not something you can treat constructively, only sympathetically. Instead of telling him what measures he needs to take against whatever justification he can dream up for his anxiety, it is perhaps time to simply tell him, as we do with mum, that it's all OK. No need to worry.

* He has truly mastered the abrupt termination of the phone call. I appreciate it, actually. I hate those long redundant exchanges of farewells that often accumulate at the end of phone conversations.