There is something wrong with my mind. More precisely, my memory. I have been one who could recall names, places, faces, and facts without any trouble. It was like my mind was a rolodex and all I had to do was give it a spin and I would land on just the right information every time. Yet lately it seems likes these mundane facts have left me coming up empty.

The one that frightens me the most is facts and details of things I myself have created, yet cannot recall. For whatever reason I started recounting all of the different “lands” I’ve created while writing stories, and I could remember all except one. To this very minute I still cannot tell you what the name of it is, and for this particular series I fleshed out an entire thousand year history that culimanated into the events of my short story turned novel. At one time that was something I knew in intricate detail. Now I can’t even tell you where all of this fictional bullshit took place.

I am aware of how overdramatic I sound. This is not a real cause for concern. But dealing with my mother’s rapid slide into dementia, I have become hypser sensitive over the slightest change in my own memory recall. It leaves me asking am I too going to suffer from this disease? Or worse, is this something external that is not only fueling my mother’s memory loss but now having an affect on me?

I am sure the answer to this is a simple one. My sudden missing mental notes are due to either age or just overall stress. Lately I have come under a lot in regards to my dad’s sudden an unexpected death, and my mother’s mental collapse and unrelated health issues.  I’m sure (and hope) that once all of these things have calmed and my mind is at peace these details will return to me and I will be just as sharp with my mundane facts as I ever was.

My dad always wanted to be a father. He never explicitly said that, but I could just gather it from the clues of his life.

When he was 16 he and his then girlfriend, Pam, became pregnant. The two wanted to get married but because they were so young their parents were required to give consent. Neither of which gave and the two didn’t see or speak to each other again for many years. My mother told me once that, that broke his heart.

To ease that pain my father tried to rescue a woman named Diane. She was already pregnant and my father stepped into the role of expecting dad and cared for the daughter she had. He would recount that he changed her diapers, fed her when she was hungry, and calmed her when she was fussy. She may not have been his blood but she was his is by name. And that was more than enough for him.

Then came me, when both these women were in their twenties. My parents told me repeatedly, but especially my pop, that I was wanted and planned. He joked that my mom talked him into it. “Can’t we have just one, just one little baby.” And clearly, we can see who won.

But like I said, my dad wanted to be a father.

Truthfully he was made for the role. In typical father caricature, He did like a beer or two, before he was sober. He liked to fish. He was a strong silent type, who peppered in random bits of wisdom, spoken in only short, clipped sentences. He never really was one to wax poetic about any topic. It was always precise response and right to the point.

My pop did have this uncanny ability of being right. He would tell me, after I told him how silly it was to get mad at traffic lights, “just you wait, Josh. You’ll see.” And by-god he was right. And I loved telling him how annoying it is that every light turned red in this town and they need to synchronize them.

He was truthfully, the most patient and strongest man I had ever met, and I am so happy I was able to tell him that before I couldn’t. He was my role model, and I strive to carry these very qualities.

Years before, He apologized to me once that he wasn’t a good father because he didn’t know what it was to be one. He didn’t have one when he was growing up. The only examples he did receive was an aloof, absent man who liked to drink. But him claiming that fault was/is not true. He knew what it was and what it took. And even to admit that, regardless of its validity, was someone with humility.

When I told my dad that I was gay, the very first thing he said to me, after an evening of processing this information silently, was that I was his son and he loved me no matter what.

My dad showed what it was to be a true man, with his kindness, his patience, his immense capacity for love, and admitting and owning his faults.

I tried to immortalize him in his obituary but of course, in true Josh fashion, I wasn’t concerned about double checking dates. So my dad hasn’t passed yet. That’ll be at the end of this month. So this man in this coffin is an imposter who stole my hat to complete the ruse.

He would have loved that joke. And I loved making him laugh.

One final story for those who aren’t friends with me on Facebook or have hidden me because of my incessant opinionated posts.

When I was getting the things for my father to wear for his final trip, I happened upon a tape, in a box filled with casettes, titled “dad and Joshua and mom.” I knew instantly what it was because I had found similar tapes when I was younger. My parents couldn’t afford a video camera, so my dad made due with his rad stereo and recorded audio of us just doing mundane things around the house. That night, before heading to the bar, I tasked my friend to make a trip to Target to buy a walk-man. Surprisingly and luckily, they still sell them. Once we got to the car we split the headphones and listened to the tape. On it was my 3-year-old self playing in a pool and my father talking to me. He asked me questions and talked about the next weekend when we were going up to my grandparents’ house for 4th of July.

My father went to the hospital on June 27th, a week before 4th of July. My heart started to race as I did the math to decipher when this could have happened.

When we got to the end of that side of the tape, I flipped it over and it began with my father announcing that it was a warm Sunday morning June the 26th. I broke down crying because, here was a moment of a very different morning 31 years prior, where we were having breakfast as a family.

My father may be gone, on July 28th, but he will never be forgotten. He will live on in the memories and hearts of all the lives he impacted.

I can’t sleep. As much as I want to quiet my mind I cannot. My thoughts are consumed with how foolish, gullible, and childish my parents have become. They never used to be this way. But as the years pass I find them becoming increasingly naieve. However, in the same breath they are also ultra suspicious of everyone and have multiple locks on their doors behind security screens. It’s insane.

Tonight I was called over to do IT work, per usual. For whatever reason they were having trouble logging into their bank account. I would walk them through it over the phone but my mother can barely speak and my dad has never used a computer. So I have to be there to do it.

After I get there I become privy to the fact that they were very nearly scammed by someone using the most recent trick in the books. The grift is someone calling up an elderly person and pretending to be a grandchild in peril and requesting money. The marks are given a place to wire the cash by a designated time before they can ask anymore questions. And my parents very nearly did if it hadn’t been for my Aunt and Uncle telling them what it really was.

The thing that annoys me the most is the telephone call was littered with red flags, but my parents are so gullible and trusting they thought NOTHING of it.

First off, after my father answered, the person on the other end said “Grandpa.” That immediately should have forced my father to respond, “Sorry, you have the wrong number.” He has no grandchildren as I am his only child and have no children. For whatever fucking reason, my dad said “Blake?” and the person replied “Yes.” Which even if that was the case they would not call my parents and say “Grandpa” he would have said “Uncle.” And if my cousin was actually in an accident and required an immediate $2K he would not have called them. Nor would he have asked them to forward the money to a place in Wisconsin where he does not live.

My parents though, saw nothing wrong with this phone call. I am glad they did have some sense to contact my aunt and uncle to question the validity.

My parents, in classic fashion, over-corrected and despite not having given them any information (however even that is in question) they went to the bank to change their account. I can only imagine what it was they told the poor clerk at the bank. Because, even I could barely understand what had actually happened.

The real culprit here is old age and the fact that my parents have barricaded themselves into their homes, only leaving to get further sustenance or cigarettes (in my father’s case.) They have no hobbies and they speak with no one, except me when I am called over for IT work or for my weekly visits.

And I am torn. One part of me is furious that I have to endure this, this is my life and I don’t want to waste it with incompetent adults. On the other-hand I want to cocoon them in bubble wrap and place them in a safe corner away from further harm. I just don’t know what to do.