Avon Journal, I

Over the summer I visit my parents on the Jersey Shore and it's the normal chaos -- or maybe the new chaos of my parents, now elderly and ailing, being shadows of their former selves. 

Daddy, for example, doesn't seem to understand almost anything I say, and he doesn't make long or appropriate responses to anything I say that he may understand. 

I ask him: Do you want some water? Are you OK? Are you tired? 

He's noncommittal -- either because he cannot hear me or because he cannot comprehend these questions.

But then Mommy says something absurd.

It happens when we're at the breakfast table shortly before my Uncle Larry is due to visit from his home near San Francisco.

She says to my father, "Does Larry need to clear customs when he comes from California or is that just for international flights?"

He pauses for the briefest of moments, and then replies, "That's just for international flights." 

It's not a basic question. In fact, the basic questions I ask him he does not understand (or hear). 

But this crazy question from Mommy that requires some thought and knowledge, he understands and responds in a totally normal way.

I don't want to lapse too much into sentimentality but I find it telling -- maybe even compelling -- that the voice he's heard every day for more than 50 years cuts through the confusion of old age, end-stage blood cancer and hearing problems.

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