I shared another story abut my papa here and probably will have many more. He lived with us for the last three and a half weeks of his life and there is enough to tell in those few days that could fill a book.
He was deaf as a rock. He could hear my husband and daddy just fine, but my voice was too high of a register and I had to literally scream at him to get him to hear me and even then it didn’t always work. He was at my house on his 82nd birthday. He had came to live with us about five days before it and everyday he just knew he had missed his birthday. Stupid dementia.
Anyway, my husband and I were changing him (he was bed bound after the stroke) and Robert had just went into the kitchen to take the trash and so I “whispered” to papa, “holler in there and tell Robert you are mad at him because he didn’t tell you happy birthday.” Papa smiled with his little half smile and shouted, “heeeyy Robert, you didn’t tell me happy birthday, but it would take a whole lot more than that to make me be mad at you!” I could have eat him up, he was such a sweetheart (even though he drove me nuts for a long time) and I sure do miss him!!