As I write this, yesterday was Fathers’ Day “back where I come from”.

I always thought people made a much bigger thing out of Mothers’ Day than they did out of Fathers’ Day. Mom got taken out to breakfast, flowers, all kinds of people falling over themselves to make sure she was remembered and stroked, hugged and kissed, with cards and ribbons and bows. Dad got a tie.

My father lives just outside of Portland, Oregon. One of my brothers lives there with him and takes care of him.

My dad is 86 now. He has trouble walking, because his knees give out. Consequently, he hobbles from his bed to his lounge chair, and occasionally my brother takes him for a ride in the car. My dad has a great sense of humour, and when he laughs it makes me feel good.

I called him on the phone to talk with him and to wish him a happy Fathers’ Day. His voice was clear and strong. He’d been watching the US Open golf tournament. He was sure that Tiger Woods was not going to win, but my brother’s voice in the background corrected him, which made him laugh.

He wanted to know where I was and when I was coming home; he seemed to have forgotten that I live here in Bermuda now and that I’m not just on a trip of some kind.

I let that pass.

We talked about the weather. It’s unusually cool here this year for this part of June. Oregon was overcast and rather cool as well. How was he feeling? Oh, he was feeling fine. I was fine too.

Then, he asked me where Carl was? I said, “Who’s Carl?” and he started laughing very hard all the way down in his belly. He could hardly catch his breath from laughing so much.

Finally, he said, “Everyone here is always getting on my case because I can’t remember so well these days, and I have to keep asking them who’s that or what’s this?”

He thought it was funny that I should ask his favourite question. However, all that did not dissuade him from the curiosity over someone named Carl and whether or not I knew where he was.

You know, as long as I have known my dad, I cannot recall anyone important to him named Carl. This Carl has now become a mystery man to me. Was he someone my dad grew up with as a young boy? Is he my brother’s friend from years back? Is this a name my dad heard on television that somehow got stuck in his brain? I have no idea, and the thing is, there is no one in my life named Carl either.

“Carl” had just come down from outer space to land in the centre of a conversation with my father, and I marvel at that.

My dad suffers from a form of dementia. For him, it is not as serious as it could be, or is likely to become if he lives much longer. According to a popular web reference (the Wikipedia): dementia is a “progressive decline in cognitive function due to damage or disease in the brain beyond what might be expected from normal ageing”.

The areas of memory, attention, and problem solving are most affected. Especially in the later stages of the condition, affected persons may become disoriented as to time, place, person, or a sense of the situation in which they find themselves. They may think they’re living years earlier, not recall the day of the week, or completely lose the sequence of their lives.

They might not recall where they are or believe they are somewhere they are not. Finally, they might not know people they should, or they might recall people they should not.

Since dementia is a common problem among some groups of people, many might find help in various online resources on the subject. Already mentioned is the article in the Wikipedia but also of interest are the articles in Medline Plus, the Neurology Channel and the information at the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke.

I never have found out who Carl is, or what my father was thinking about when he asked me about him. It was not necessary to straighten that all out. I noticed the longer I talked with my dad, the more fatigued he became with the conversation. What seemed most touching to me, and which came through in spite of his confusion, was the disappointment in his voice when I said that I wasn’t going to be coming home right away. I could tell he wanted me there, and that means a lot.