My brother and I are giving my dad a shower. It’s a literal shitty mess. My dad says the water hurts, but I know it’s as much his pride. His skin has cracks as does his mind. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he says. One of us jokes about all of our diapers he changed, but it rings hollow. I hate that I wish I were anywhere else. And I fucking hate dementia. The shower’s done. One of us will help him dress; the other will clean the tub. We gently pat him dry. “You’re good boys,” he says.
François Bereaud writes, sometimes publishes, edits, supports writers. San Diego Stories comes out in September.