Jason’s parents thought they were nearly done raising children when he came along. They were 41 and surprised but thankful for him. They were older than his contemporaries’ parents and felt like it. Their lessened energy to pour into Jason started a crack.

In his twenties, the fissure grew when Jason married, moved 9 hours away, and had children. While he sometimes called his parents, they did not see him often. 

“Honor your father and mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.” Exodus 20:12

By the time Jason was turning forty, his father’s cognition was slipping. The diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease heralded a painfully slow decline. His father’s cleverness gradually faded, and his sense of humor fell flat. It was difficult to hear stories repeated almost on top of each other.  

Jason’s siblings cared for his father through his decline, but Jason remained distant. The busyness of his life with growing children left little time for his parents. Trips and calls to his parents and siblings were infrequent.  

Jason’s older sister and brother set their father up in an assisted living facility after his wife passed away. Then, when the complex steps of bathing were too overwhelming for Jason’s father to complete alone, they relocated him to a nursing home.  

Over years, Jason’s father lost his ability to communicate and walk. Every morning, the nursing staff dressed him, diapered him, and transferred him to a wheelchair, which sat in front of the television for much of the day. 

Many people remembered Jason’s father as an outgoing and kind man who loved his family. He helped others, taught Sunday School for many years, and kept in touch with his many nieces and nephews. Those who loved him grieved his losses, visited, and often asked about him. The nursing home staff were very aware of who visited and who was missing. “We feel supported when we’re not the only ones who care,” one nurse told Jason’s sister. 

One summer, Jason came back to his home state on a lark. He visited a couple of family members but did not visit his father. “Why drive those extra miles? My father doesn’t even know who I am anymore,” he declared.  

At the same time, in the nursing home sixty miles away, Jason’s father was slipping down in his wheelchair. The CNA working evening shift leaned over to set him straight. His father smiled at him.