Seems the last time I saw dad, he was bursting with health: the man I saw before me just yesterday is as if I am looking at a total stranger.

Dad is now in a nursing home.  Advanced Parkinson's disease and the first dredges of Alzheimer's have put him here; he is no longer capable of living on his own.  While I am sad about it, we, the family, feel that this is the best for him.

We don't have to worry about dad getting lost or not getting the care he needs because we know he is.  The home where he now resides is one of the better facilities in our immediate area: we have complete confidence that the staff will see to his needs.

Dad used to be a rather large man.  He's now a shell of his former self.  The clothes he wears hang on him, and somehow he looks one hundred years old.  His eyes still have the sparkle of life in them, but other than that, he resembles a concentration camp survivor.  It is heartbreaking, absolutely heartbreaking.

Dad has been in this facility now for the past six months.  We try to visit him as often as we can, but when we leave, we feel sad because we know that dad will never get any better: if anything, he will continue to grow worse until the Alzheimer's and the Parkinsons take their toll on him, and he ends up dying.

Dad has always been a strong force in our life.  Now that is being stripped slowly from us, day by day; it is our turn now to watch over him, to make sure he has what he needs while in the home.

If there is anything we want from our dad, it's for him to get better.  Such a waste of a dream because we know it won't come true .  All we can do is hope and pray, but somehow we feel that God is no longer capable of listening to our mutterings.