I admitted to the doctor that I might not be the best person to objectively tell if my father is beginning to show signs of dementia. He’s 87 now but to me his lack of responsiveness is attributed to the fact that he doesn’t hear very well (and his general immigrant stubbornness.) He grows silent in his obstinance or when he simply doesn’t want to deal with whatever you’re telling him. Doctors aren’t exempt from this behavior.

I’ve always thought he does NOT suffer from dementia – even though I hardly approve of the way he lives. He does what he wants. He’s hardheadedly independent. But what do I really know? Maybe a daughter’s love is blind to the obvious.

Cut to Tuesday of this week: He took a dementia test and I was there to witness the results. He was given three words to remember: daughter, mountain, heaven – and was asked to repeat back those words at various intervals throughout the test as he was guided through other activities. He was told he could get 2 out of 3 words and still pass.

“What are the words I told you to remember, Mr. Schikschnus?” asked the nurse.

 “Daughter, heaven, mountain,” he spit out in rapid fire.

He was asked to fill out numbers on a clock and because he always has to do things his own way – he started with “12 at the top. 6 at the bottom. 3 to the right. And 9 to the left.”

When the nurse pointed to where the 1 would go, he said, “What? That’s 5 minutes after the hour.” I laughed audibly. I couldn’t help it. This is the man I know.

“No,” said the nurse calmly. “What number goes there?” Of course, he finally responded with “One! What else would it be?”

“What are the words I told you to remember again?”

“Daughter, heaven, mountain,” he said again, faster than the first time.

He proceeded to fill out the rest of the numbers with limited sarcasm and was asked a final time, “What are the words I told you to remember again?”

He responded, “Daughter, heaven, mountain. My daughter went up the mountain and yelled at the heavens.”

I’ve never felt so seen by him.