Mini synopsis: This story involves the loss of a parent due to Alzheimer's. We often wage the battles of 'I should have said...' or 'Did they come to understand...' as we watch that person slipping away. This story tries to focus on the ideas of love and hope, which added to loss can be a very emotional balancing act to read.

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I knew when I got the text from Kevin that my phone would soon be ringing. I’d given him two hundred dollars as a Christmas bonus for all he’d done for me this past year with my father’s care and for keeping me abreast of issues—like warning me the shit was about to hit the fan.

“This is Charles,” I replied, answering my cellphone, wondering how much damage control I’d need to do this time.

“Afternoon Charles, Mary Jenkins from St. Anthony’s. I’m calling because we’ve had another incident with your father, the same kind of thing as last time. Any chance you could come by and we can discuss additional care protocols?”

“Is everyone alright?” The expected question given what she was calling about.

“Yes, but this is the second time he’s shown violent behavior towards the staff in the past month. We need to look into making some adjustments.”

She proceeded to give me the details of what happened. I apologized and assured her I would be there within the hour.

St. Anthony’s was an assisted living and memory care facility we’d, my sister Chelsea and I, had chosen to care for our father after his progression from a mild form of Alzheimer’s to a more moderate form of the disease. The move was brought on due to his self-care and twice daily visiting nurse not proving to be adequate. The decision to move him from his condo was made after he’d gone missing for nearly twelve hours and was found in Seaside, OR, two hundred miles away. Once found he was confused, disoriented, afraid, and claiming to be looking for our mother. I had to explain there was no other missing person other than my father.

When I got to the hospital they’d taken him to three hours later, he seemed embarrassed, unsure of himself, and tried to explain that he’d only been trying to find our mother. They’d meet as teens in high school in Seaside, and it was love at first sight. It made sense that something as strong as that connection of love for our mother brought him there in search of her, given his disease progression. It was a difficult discussion to have with my dad—giving up living nearly independently in his condo—but luckily that day was one of his better ones, and there wasn’t all that much arguing, yelling, or expressing his disappointment in me.

Chelsea, my fraternal twin, older than me by eight whole minutes, was of course on board because, well, she was deployed at the time in South Korea, so issues with our dad’s care fell on me. In truth, they always had since I lived not twenty minutes from him, and she, an Army Chief Warrant Officer II (CWO II) and a Black Hawk helicopter pilot/instructor, couldn’t be as intimately involved with his care. Unless our father was on his deathbed, there wasn’t much she could do but listen to me complain and offer the occasional suggestion or advice. I kept her in the loop, but I often squelched sharing any minutia that drove me absolutely nuts being responsible for his care.

Last week, twice, my dad hadn’t recognized me and had mistaken me for my sister. Being fraternal twins didn’t mean we didn’t look similar, but for dad to do that hit on unpleasant memories and arguments we’d had when I was younger. Battling his conditions ups and downs was bad enough, but when they skirted those times he harped on me for not being the ‘boy’ or 'man' he thought I should be, it made me retreat to dark and ugly places. We battled that a lot, the idea I wasn’t comfortable being male all those years ago—I didn’t need a refresher as to his opinion on that when he really wasn’t in his right mind, refused to understand me back in the day, and was angry any time he saw me lately.

--<^>--

I waited until after 11 p.m. Seattle time to reach out to Chelsea, knowing she’d probably be off duty by this time. It was already tomorrow evening where she was in Seoul, South Korea.

“Hey you… You doing alright?”

It was good to hear her voice.

“Doing okay, Chel's... Dad’s doing as well as can be expected. I talked to his doctor, and they’re going to increase the dosage of his antipsychotics to see if they can curb some of his aggression and anger. I guess he spooked that volunteer pretty bad last week.

“They’ve resorted to keeping him strapped around the waist when he’s in bed or in his wheel chair. I was warned the restraints could get worse if there isn’t improvement. The idea it would be for his own safety was tough to swallow. He isn’t walking as much these days; he shuffles a bit, though, if they can get him interested in walking. If you want to stay up late into the morning, I can FaceTime you one of these times I’m there.”

“I’d like that; let me get with you on when that could work soon,” she said.

I knew what that meant; she had some big OP going on or was in the middle of something she couldn’t talk about on an open line, and I told her I got it.

“I thought you would,” she said, and I could sense the smile on her face over the line. “Your last email said he mistook you for me... You okay? You know you are my biggest worry, right? I know you’re doing so much and I can’t really help out.”

“I know it is, don’t worry, we’re all good here. He not seeing me when I’m with him, maybe if he thinks he’s seeing you, I can use that. Bend him around, telling him to be nice to me when he thinks you’re there visiting him,” I said, with a strained chuckle there was no way she’d believe.

“I’m so sorry, Charles. If you want to convince him to write me out of that big inheritance, that’s fine."

It was her turn to toss out something we might get a laugh about to lighten the gloom. It didn’t carry as well as she probably wanted.

“I feel like I’m getting to watch him die slowly, and one day he will, and I’ll be experiencing this all over again, though more suddenly. The thing that hurts most is feeling like he never could accept that I was ever going to be that perfect son, man..."

I didn’t get to finish my thought because Chelsea cut me off, “Let’s not do this again, please. He loves you, and he told me that many times, Charles. Mom told you the same thing before she passed; I was there, so... Yeah, let’s not go there, okay?”

“Sure…”

We talked more about dad, how he was doing financially and able to afford his care, and a bit about the stuff she’d do in her down time in South Korea. She’d gotten a long weekend off and went to Japan with some friends, had a blast, and tried yet again to get me to agree to come all that way to see her.

“I’d like to, but..."

"What, are you going to finally do something about transitioning?”

“I told you I’d been seeing a counselor for the past eight months. She told me the ‘ball’ was in my court at my last appointment. She’s ready to move the paperwork through to a couple other doctors and the insurance company when I’m ready,” I admitted.

“And,” she pushed.

“I don’t know; maybe I need to get through the holidays and see what is up with my company after the New Year. Maybe I’ll feel like there’s time to breathe,” I whined.

“You know, if you were at a stop light and it turned green and I was behind you, I’d be laying on my horn at you, yelling for you to get going,” she barked, laughing heartily at her impatience with me from fifty-two hundred miles away.

“It’s a big step,” I complained.

“Every day is a gift, Charles, and each that slips by without you living as who you know you are is a day wasted. Promise me, this New Year, make it a resolution to get your ass in gear. I’m serious… Your happiness means everything to me, so I need to hear it. Promise me!”

Augh!

“I’ll do what I can."

“Nope, not good enough buddy,” she barked at me again.

“Fine, I promise,” I stated all pouty.

“No, tell me what you’re promising me.”

“I promise to resolve my true self in the New Year,” I conceded feeling like I’d been scolded.

“Excellent! That sounded like a real New Year’s resolution if I ever heard one!”

--<^>--

Dad’s increased dosage of the antipsychotic drugs had the effect of calming his cognitive abilities, which helped him not be so physically combative, but occasionally he’d verbally go off the rails depending on who happened to be in his presence. Tonight I was to be his whipping post. Nothing new; I’d already steeled myself for what might come.

“I knew you’d leave, run away to see the world, your mother," dad began saying while looking out the window. He stopped speaking because an airliner came into view on approach to Sea-Tac airport.

He’d barely eaten anything for dinner, and Kevin had texted me saying he’d thrown up his breakfast. A heated conversation about mom or Chelsea wasn’t something I wanted to deal with tonight.

“Dad, can you drink some of this protein drink? Just a couple sips, please."

Chelsea had been the one to leave Seattle after joining ROTC in college as a way to pay her way. That gift of tuition required the payment of six years of service. She’d been in the Army for just over fourteen years now, most of it stationed overseas, and she planned to stick it out for a full retirement of twenty years. Mom getting sick while she was away was hard on Chelsea, and while the Army bent a little to accommodate a sick relative, I think she felt guilty she wasn’t around more in those last months of mom’s life.

We were children blessed to parents who’d spent the first half of their marriage trying to have kids. They’d try, fail, and think it would happen when it was supposed to happen, but it never did. Doctors, meditation, praying, and even a yogi were tried, yet nothing worked for them. Mom was thirty-eight when she got pregnant with us, and the story went that she’d been given doses of a fertilization medication above what was standard. That had made pregnancy possible, but long-term, the lawsuit filed by my father for her wrongful death due to ovarian cancer ended up with an out-of-court settlement that made it possible for him to get the care he was getting now and well into the future.

Dad was trying to make it known right now he wasn’t happy with Chelsea since he thought she was sitting here with him tonight. It was a switch from his usual bashing of me.

“It should have been your brother,” dad said after the jet passed.

“I wasn’t interested in joining the military, dad,” I said, pushing the protein drink closer to him. “Just a couple sips, okay...”

He turned to look at me, studying me closely. “Why couldn’t you have left your hair long like your mother’s?”

Chelsea had long hair through most of her childhood, but in high school her style, or more likely her being lazy about spending time doing her hair, changed. She decided a modified pixie cut suited her, and the last picture I’d gotten from her out on the town in Tokyo showed she’d shaved one of the sides but was still rocking the pixie. It was absolutely cute, and it gave me hope that my hair, certainly long enough for a pixie style, would keep the dysphoria and self-doubt at bay if I ever got around to transitioning.

“I’m working on growing my hair out,” I began saying as he lifted the protein drink and took a sip.

“Risk is always better than regret. I told Charlie that; did he tell you?”

I had no idea if he told Chelsea that, but he’d never told me that!

"No, I can’t recall him telling me that,” I replied as if I were Chelsea. He thought he was talking to Chelsea; how cognizant are you right now? “Why were you so set against the idea Charlie knows to his soul he is a woman?”

He took his time, like he was trying to organize his thoughts, and said, “I don’t understand that, how someone can be anything but as they are born.”

I didn’t want to risk tipping him over, but offered, “Lot of things we’re just beginning to understand about what makes us human. I can assure you, I know who I am to my core."

I’d purposely dropped out of being Chelsea to see if he picked up on it.

“Charlie, he was a dreamer, just like your mother. When he left the garage door open and those raccoons tore into the bag of dog food, that was because he was unfocused in life and didn’t know a goddamn thing about who he was,” he said grumpily.

Okay, he’s agitated.

“Another sip,” I coaxed, pushing the drink a millimeter closer.

“First there is intention, it breeds behavior. And habit is next, which is practiced. You have to practice in life. It’s nature, natural, a second coming,” he paused as if confused, “No, a second nature that is then all you, who you then are... You see that, right?"

There was a welling of tears in his eyes, and I had to rewind his crazy ass riddle sentence to try and understand what he was saying and how it in any fashion related to me. Was he telling Chelsea that in his assessment of my knowing I was a woman, I had somehow not considered any of this crap? I was angry, but I had to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was spewing gibberish related to the time I hadn’t shut the garage door and the raccoons did in fact make a mess of the garage.

"Okay dad, please..."

Before I could complete the request that he drink a little more, the bottle was pushed off the bedside table and crashed to the floor, spilling the contents everywhere! I recoiled, but then jumped up to start cleaning it up. With a hand full of paper towels I was just beginning to kneel, when he began yelling at me.

“He felt it. God damn! Felt?! He wanted to skip to the end and be a woman on a ‘feeling’ without knowing any of it! Chelsea, please, he can’t see what it is he’s saying,” he reached out to me. “Please, it’s a mistake he won’t be able to come in from in a... I..." he turned away, wiping at his eyes. “I am, having ruined his life,” he whispered.

On my knees, cleaning up this mess, I was shocked, angry, and wondering yet again how close he was to being out of his right mind in what he’d just said. Our battles with my known gender conflict mostly ended after I’d moved out to attend college, but that didn’t mean there weren’t times he laid into me, often pointing out at whatever age I was that I hadn’t ‘become a woman’ yet. I spent years rewinding and replaying conversations wishing I could go back and edit the things I’d said to make him understand that having to going through life as a man would kill me.

Admittedly I was a thirty-six year old woman trapped in a man’s body who’d done years of therapy trying to right her perception of her life. Whether I had the strength to imagine a future as my true self without some surprise event derailing that wish was still up in the air. I’d delayed gender affirming care for so long the guilt I felt was suffocating and my discomfort in my own skin had pushed me nearly to the breaking point many times. Hearing him questioning I didn’t know the steps or path? I could feel the fringes of doubt, anxiety, and fear wanting to creep back in.

The ‘ball’ was in my court; that’s what I was going to hold onto tightly while trying my hardest to forgive my father for the pain he’d caused me all these years. I would eventually be able to live my life for myself, not anyone else’s perception of it.

--<*>--

“You like them?" I asked, smiling at my phones screen.

“Like? You not see my damn smile?” she asked, sticking her face right up to the camera on her iPad. “I love these blouses! Jesus, you apply this kind of fashionista touch to your own future wardrobe, and I’m going to be stealing all my fashion queues from you!”

I guess that meant she liked them; my heart was swelling a bit from the compliment.

“Merry Christmas Chel's..."

“And to you, little brother... Coming soon though, I’m going to be changing that to ‘lil sis’. So come the New Year, don’t freak out on me when you hear that,” she paused for a moment. “You didn’t expect I’d forget our conversation from earlier this month, now did you?” she asked, looking into the camera with one brow furled.

“A future sis could hope,” I shot back playfully.

“Yeah, and a future sis is freak’n late getting to the damn party, but I’ma cut you some slack ‘cause I love you.”

It was something I couldn’t help but like hearing. That my sister loved me and accepted that I was not the ‘boy who was going to become a girl’, I was a girl needing time to get her software updates applied to fix her operating system! The look on her face confirmed her sentiment, and I felt a little choked up.

“You want to open that last gift I sent you?" she asked.

“Okay,” I said, putting my phone down and adjusting it so she could still see me on our FaceTime call.

I carefully undid one of the sides of the wrapped box, but was promptly yelled at.

“Seriously! You’re going to save that wrapping paper?!!” she complained.

“No, but when have I gotten wrapping paper with a Korean Jesus depiction, and I’m assuming Korean writing on it?” I laughed.

“Ah, last year?!”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s the same stuff I used to wrap those sandals I sent last year. I haven’t seen a single picture of you wearing them, and I’m beginning to think you didn’t like them as much as you said you did.”

“I like them! I just... I don’t have much occasion to wear them,” I replied sheepishly.

The truth was I’d worn them around my house plenty of times; I just hadn’t ever said anything about it to her or taken a picture of myself wearing them.

“Rip the dang box open already!” she barked.

“Okay, okay..." I did as I was told, and when I got the box open, I was mesmerized by what was inside.

“That’s a silk kimono from one of, if not the best, clothiers in Tokyo. God, I hope it fits,” she said, a little concerned.

“It’s… OMG! It’s beautiful, Chel's..." I half whispered still in shock.

“Get up! Try it on! Been killing me to see if I got it right.

--<*>--

The kimono had fit a little snuggly but was so beautiful once on, and with the kumihimo belt, I actually cried seeing myself in the mirror. That got me some comforting words, but a warning to not get tears on the kimono or it would likely stain. Chelsea apologized for the fit, but I assured her that my upcoming transition included losing some weight, so it would fit better soon enough and be cherished for years to come.

Gifts exchanged, and it finally became Christmas morning in my time zone, so we shifted gears to talk a bit about her exploits. She was planning a long weekend trip to Thailand with her motley crew of friends and said that Vietnam was on her bucket list of places to visit while she was there. The last thing she mentioned was that she had put in a duty request for either Italy or Germany when her tour was over. If either hit, it would be early the following year and be about the time she was considered for the promotion boards.

Since we’d gotten on the call, I’d only relayed that dad was doing better and seemed quieter and less angry of late. I hadn’t mentioned his ‘path’ rants or that I had in fact tried talking with him, pretending to be her. I said I was going over there around lunch to sit with him and bring him a Kraken hockey t-shirt and a bundle of warm socks.

“He’s unlikely to remember the socks, ya know,” Chelsea began. “Why he’d get so excited for socks at Christmas when we were kids is really kind of a fun memory for me.”

“Yeah, maybe a lot of the things we remember weren’t as they seemed, huh?”

“Maybe, but I know he loved us, so let’s not slide this conversation anywhere dark on Christmas,” she requested.

I gave her a look of dismay and a sarcastic, “Me?”

--<*>--

I had slept in after being up until just after 1 a.m. with Chelsea to celebrate Christmas. By the time I got to St. Anthony's, dad had already been wheeled into the common dining area, and his tray of food had looked barely touched. I could see a staff member getting up from his table as I approached.

“Merry Christmas,” I offered.

“Merry Christmas; he’s in a mood, I’m sorry to say.”

“That’s okay, I got this,” I said, taking the guys seat, facing my dad, “Merry Christmas, dad.”

I reached over to give his forearm a squeeze.

He tried to focus on me and shook his head slowly, "Charlotte..."

“No, Charles, dad... Mom’s not here,” I said.

“To hell she isn’t!” he yelled, swiping at the tray of food in front of him that I was just able to pull back so it wouldn’t go all over the place.

When he looked calmer, I offered, “Chelsea said to wish you a Merry Christmas."

He looked at me confused and then set his hands in his lap slowly.

“No daughter of mine would join that circus!”

“Dad, we’re not going to yell, alright." I could see other family members with their own parents looking our way. I felt embarrassed, but they knew the drill; it was what it was.

“My daughters have both disappointed me!”

I froze momentarily.

“Dad, maybe we should take your lunch back to your room?”

“If that’s what you want,” he said evenly, “Being my daughter. Charlotte said she met you; I don’t think that could have happened.”

I was already standing, moving his wheelchair back, and reaching for the tray his food was on. He was in a mood alright…

--<*>--

After the staff got dad back into bed, he just lay there with his eyes closed. I adjusted the table next to his bed and pulled the tray of food in front of him.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “I’m not hungry, ‘daughter’."

“You need to eat, dad. I can get a protein drink if you want.

“Charlotte says I need to make peace, Chelsea."

“Chelsea is not here, dad; she is in Korea,” I explained.

He opened his eyes to look at me. “And you’re who to my daughters?”

Nothing about my appearance would give anyone the impression I was a woman, so his next statement caught me off guard.

“Are you one of their girlfriends?” he asked, looking at me with a newfound interest.

“No, I'm… Dad, I’m Charles, your son.”

“I want you to leave!”

“Dad, take it easy."

“I have no son! Who are you? Where are my daughters? I love my daughters! Please… Please, I need my girls," he cried out before bursting into tears and heavily sobbing like I’d never seen before.

While trying to comfort him, one of the nurses on duty came into the room with a syringe and said, “He’s been like this for a couple days. He might have had a mild stroke; we’re not entirely sure yet.”

“Stroke? Why wasn’t I called?”

“We don’t know that for certain, but, well... I’ve been doing this for a while, and it fits his behavior and vitals,” she said, taking his arm, finding a vein, and injecting him with whatever was in the syringe.

“What are you giving him?" I realized I probably should have asked that sooner.

“Just something to relax him. I called the doctor on duty, and he gave me the order. It won't put him out, but it should make him a bit more comfortable."

--<*>--

Over the long holiday weekend, I visited my dad daily. I sat with him, held his hand, and talked to him about my work, politics, the weather, and whatever else I could think of to fill the time. He was very different now; much quieter, not speaking very much, but would watch me as if he were studying me. I felt like he was wondering who I was the entire time or maybe he saw me differently.

On December 28th at 2:40 p.m., while at work, I got the call that I needed to come to St. Anthony’s and that my dad was having trouble breathing. I got there and quickly got Chelsea on a FaceTime call so she could do what I was about to do.

His medical directive was clear – DNR.

I leaned in, kissed his forehead, placed mine on his, and whispered while tears and sobs threatened to choke me out, “Your girl’s love you dad, always have, and always will. Go be with mom..."

--<*>--

Dad took his last breath at 3:06:32 p.m.

Chelsea arrived thirty-three hours later. It was an emotional pickup at Sea-Tac airport. She was fully decked in her uniform and as soon as I had the car in park, I was out of my car and had my arms around her, bawling. We were both blubbering when a police officer apologized for interrupting us but said we needed to keep moving.

At my house, both of us still weary, Chel’s showered—we were comfortably sitting in silence, taking comfort in the presence of the other, until she asked, "Are you okay?”

“I think so…”

“Wanna talk?”

“If you do..."

“I heard you tell him his daughters loved him,” she said, unable to speak more as tears welled in her eyes.

“Yeah, he… I don’t know Chel's; ever since Christmas, he'd been saying stuff about him seeing mom, that he had two daughters, that I was you or some woman he didn’t know. I felt like through whatever fog he was in, he was trying to give me that he saw who I really was, you know..."

I couldn’t continue speaking because I was full on tears and sobbing. I felt Chelsea snuggle up next to me on the couch, hugging me tight.

“That’s beautiful, sis,” she said, joining me in the release of her own emotions.

After a couple minutes, she said, “I told you mom had chewed on him for not making an effort to understand what you were going through.”

“I remember…”

“Maybe he resolved to fix his mistake?" she questioned.

“He didn’t make it to New Year's though,” I whispered.

“Does it matter?”

“Probably not…”

“Your damn right, it doesn’t! I’m ‘honking’ my horn at you, sis. Come the year after we'll be spending some quality sister time together,” she said.

I looked at her skeptically, “Oh yeah? In Vietnam or Germany?”

"No,” she said, leaning me away from the embrace to little to look at me full on. “I’m putting in for a training slot at Joint Base Lewis/McChord (JBLM). There's a very good chance I’ll get it too. Already started greasing the skids girl.”

“Seriously?!” I screamed while pulling her to me.

“You promised me a resolution this coming year; I’m thinking I need to resolve being away from my sister. Plus, you’re going to need me to help screw up your fashion sense anyway,” she replied all goofy like.

--<*>--

Dad’s wake was small and intimate when we had it a month later. Chelsea had gotten leave to attend, and we entombed dad with mom at Gethsemane Cemetery. We agreed that with each other’s ashes, we wanted to be spread around all those places we loved in Washington—not holed up in some tomb.

True to my promise, I kicked the ‘ball’ out of my side of the court to begin my transition in the New Year.

A year into my transition, Chel’s was stationed at JBLM as a newly-minted CWO III.

Life was good and I didn’t feel as burdened by my fears to transition. I had less doubts about what I was doing, less anxiety and stress, and a cute AF pixie cut like my eight minute older sister.

I held close the memories from my dad’s time in St. Anthony. In the end I believe he accepted me for the woman trapped inside of me. I think his ‘Intentions’ path ramble was him passing on a last bit of fatherly advice meant to help me on this journey. Never hurts to be remind that it is a journey to becoming who you are.

Dad made my transition something I could find comfort in finally, late, but no less my salvation. I thank him for that final gift every day...

FIN

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