"Dan, don't worry. It's kind of like riding a rollercoaster."
My Dad is no chump and he knew this was only an attempt to make his first ride onto the chair lift at least a little more cheerful.
Dad will be moved to assisted living within the month. For those of you not familiar, assisted living at the Arms where Dad's been in independent living for about 9 years now, is on the 2nd floor. He'll be receiving more care, more attention, resulting in a better quality of life. Still, his friends who also reside at the Arms seem to consider his move some sort of ending to a chapter.
"We'll miss you, Dan", one lady sadly admitted.
"No, no, no, he'll still be here and he'll still be visiting down here in the lounge, and going to bingo and all that. You can't get rid of Dad that easily!", I quickly chimed in.
"Oh well, that's good. We don't want to lose him," admitted his friend, a lady in a walker, who has been watching our old time radio shows all these years, especially those that featured my dad (Dad does a crackerjack imitation of Rochester from "The Jack Benny Show". We'll be performing two Bennys next weekend, but this will be the first time Dad won't be playing Rochester. He just can't process the way he used to.)
From his inside view room on the 5th floor, Dad can't see the world whirring around him. From his new room on the 2nd floor, Dad will get a sunny Southern view, albeit of the parking lot. But there's a busy intersection nearby, life bumping along as the day chugs.
When we wheeled Dad into the new room to give it a peek, it was hard to detect if he liked it, was indifferent, or wanted to rapidly retreat. Until I saw the smile enter his eyes when he took in the sunshine.
It's not Vegas, but it'll do.