Soldier On (24 page)

“Absolutely, Dad. You know I’ve always wanted to be like you.”

He leans back in his chair and watches me closely.

“You want to be like me?”

“Of course. Always have.”

“Brandon, you don’t want to be like me. I am an old man, and my memory is fading. Some days are better than others, but that doesn’t change the fact that every day, I lose another memory. I forget something that was important to me once upon a time. It’s like a drain. The memory just flows out of me and disappears. And once it’s gone, it’s usually gone for good. But there are other days when I remember
everything
, and that’s not good, either.”

“Why isn’t it good?”

“Because there are some things I wish I could forget.”

“Like?”

“Like the fact that I was a bad husband. A bad father.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you were a bad father. You were a little strict—”

“I was very strict.”

“Okay, very strict. But not bad. I would never say that.”

“Maybe not every day. But I was a bad husband. Every single day. Nobody would dispute that. Your mom deserved better. I hope she found it.”

“She left
you
.”

“Yeah, she did. And I deserved it.”

This is getting deep. And very un-Dad like. We don’t do this. We don’t sit around, talking about his disease and how he was a horrible husband.

“Listen to me, Brandon. While I’m still of fairly sound mind, I want to offer the most important piece of advice I can give you. And I want you to write it down, because you can’t trust your memory. I’m living proof of that. Find a pencil.”

With a laugh, I get up from the table and hunt for a notepad and pen in one of the drawers.

“This is more important than how to clean your gun. Or how to properly make your bed. Or one of the million other things I taught you when you were a kid. It’s the most important thing I could ever, ever teach you.”

I sit back down at the table. “Okay, Dad. Let’s hear it.”

“Ready?”

“Go for it.”

“Be a good husband. Be a good father.”

My pencil freezes. That’s not what I was expecting at all.

“Write it down, son.”

I write it down.

“That’s what’s important in this life. I put the emphasis on the wrong things for far too long. It’s not how many push-ups you can do or how fast you can run. It’s not how many medals or stripes you earn. It’s family. Your wife. Your kids. And then their kids. It has taken sixty years and an incurable memory-robbing disease for me to figure it out, but I finally have. So keep that piece of paper. And someday, when you marry that pretty girl sitting in the living room, read it from time to time. Because I won’t be around to remind you of how precious she is.”

A lump forms in my throat, because with those words, I finally understand. My father’s not just offering words of wisdom to me. He’s saying goodbye. Today. While he’s still mentally competent enough to do so.

“Dad, it could be years until—”

“And it could be tomorrow. We don’t know, Brandon. We never know. We just keep going, hoping for the best, but preparing for the opposite.”

“Soldier on,” I whisper.

Dad nods. “That’s still good advice. Write that down, too.”

I don’t need to, but I write it down, anyway.

“Brandon, don’t be me. Be better than me. Be the man I should have been. That way, when you’re old and gray and your memory is shot to hell, you’ll have no regrets. Promise me.”

“I promise, Dad.”

“Good.”

After folding up the paper and sticking it in my pocket, I take my dad by the arm and lead him to his recliner. Steph and the twins are sitting on the couch, while Christian’s in the rocking chair, reading a magazine.

“Uncle B, do you want to sit with us?” Lily asks.

“I would love to sit with you.”

I lift her into my arms and sit down on the couch. She snuggles against my chest and continues watching the movie.

Steph turns to me. “Everything okay?”

I look over at my dad. His eyes are already closed.

“Looks like you wore him out,” Steph whispers.

“It was a deep conversation.”

“But good?”

“Very good.”

Without a doubt, it was the most mature conversation I’ve ever had with my father. It’s just too bad it took us twenty-two years to get here.

But I’m glad we finally made it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Stephanie

Even though I want to be a teacher, I’ve never really spent a lot of time around young kids. Lucy and Lily are adorable and fun, but they’re also
exhausting
. After a full day of movies, coloring, dancing, and baking, I can’t deny I’m thankful I’ll be teaching older kids. The girls’ constant need to be entertained also has me feeling sympathetic toward Brandon’s sister. It’s really no wonder she’s cranky. Being a single mom, working full-time, and taking care of her dad can’t be easy. Despite my newfound compassion for Christian, I still try to avoid her. She’s not happy with me, or the fact that I’m here, but she’s seemed to accept it and hasn’t tried to pick a fight since last night’s dinner.

By mid-afternoon, the girls have settled down long enough to take a nap. Brandon and Christian are at the kitchen table, talking in hushed whispers about their dad’s care while I keep Mr. Walker company in the living room. I know very little about Alzheimer’s and its various stages, but even I can tell that today has been a good day. He ate a big breakfast, a decent lunch, and has stayed alert and lucid throughout the afternoon. I’ve always heard that routine is important for dementia patients, so I’ve been a little worried that having a house full of people would agitate him. But so far, it’s been a great day. Maybe being around family helps.

He’s sitting in his recliner, watching a documentary on the Civil War while I flip through a family photo album. There aren’t many pictures, but there are pages of newspaper clippings, including one where Mr. Walker was awarded the Silver Star for rescuing two wounded soldiers during the Battle of Khe Sanh. In the picture, he stands tall and dignified in his uniform. By his side is his wife, Diana, gazing proudly at her husband. It makes me wonder if she was just forcing a smile for the picture or if she was truly happy that he was being recognized for his heroism. And, if she
was
happy, what happened later on to make her throw it all away and leave her family behind?

So many questions.

“You’re quiet over there,” Mr. Walker says softly.

“I was just looking at this picture of you being awarded the Silver Star.”

“That was a good day. September. 19 . . .” his voice trails off as he tries to remember the year. Hoping to help him out, I look closely at the newspaper print.

“I’m not sure. The date has faded on the article.”

“It was September 1968. Or was it ’69?”

I’m just about to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t remember. Anyone would have trouble remembering an event that happened so long ago. But before I can get the words out of my mouth, he quickly leaps to his feet.

“It was 1968. I’m sure it was 1968!”

“Mr. Walker, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay!” His breath is ragged as he turns to me. His eyes are cloudy. His expression pained. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m . . .”

Brandon and Christina run into the living room.

“Who is she? What is she doing here?”

Christian takes her father by the arm. Brandon sprints to my side.

“Dad, that’s Steph. She’s Brandon’s girlfriend.”

“Brandon doesn’t have a girlfriend! And if he does, he certainly doesn’t need one. He should be focused on his drills. Focused on school. Just watch. He’ll get her pregnant. Then he won’t go to college at all!”

“Dad, he’s already in college. Everything is fine. Let’s get you to your bedroom.”

As Christian leads him to his room, he keeps shouting random insults about what a slut I am and what a failure Brandon is. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Brandon wraps me in his arms.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Steph. I promise he doesn’t have a clue.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“You didn’t do anything, sweetheart.”

“I must have.”

“You didn’t. I promise.”

Brandon pulls me over to the couch. With a sad smile, he gently wipes away my tears with his fingertips.

“He was having such a good day. What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything. This is normal . . . if you can call it that. This is every day. Christian was just telling me she was surprised we’d avoided an outburst. It was only a matter of time. Medication will help calm him down. Tomorrow he won’t even remember the things he said. And we never remind him. It just upsets him, and that’s the last thing we ever want to do.”

“How sad.”

“Yeah, it is, but it also makes me grateful for our talk this morning. It was the most stable I’ve seen him in months. And I know everything he said to me was genuine, despite the garbage he just spewed at us.”

“What did he say this morning?”

“He said he was a bad husband and father, and that he didn’t teach me what was important in life. He said I need to really think about my future. And if I’m lucky enough to have you in it, I need to always remember how precious you are and to be sure my family is always my number one priority. He told me to remember it, because he won’t be around to remind me.”

“Wow. That almost sounds like—”

“A goodbye. I know.”

I snuggle deeper into his arms.

“I’m glad the girls were napping.”

“Me, too.” Brandon kisses the top of my hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I know it’s scary.”

It is. And it makes me feel even more compassion for his sister.

A little later, Christian returns to the living room. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. Just mutters something about making burgers for dinner before heading toward the kitchen.

“She really hates me.”

Brandon lifts my face toward his. “No, she doesn’t. But even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We smile at each other before he leans in, kissing me softly.

Kentucky moonlight shines through the window. It’s pretty and bright, making it impossible to sleep. Not that it matters. I never rest well when I’m not in my own bed. The house is cozy and warm, but the sounds and smells make it unfamiliar, and if there’s one thing I thrive on, it’s familiarity.

I’m a lot like Brandon’s dad in that way.

Mr. Walker slept on and off the rest of the evening. The twins didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye before their dad picked them up. My guilt was heavy, and I had apologized repeatedly, but Christian and Brandon both assured me I wasn’t to blame.

“This is normal,” Christian had said.

This is normal.
I’ve heard that a lot over the past few days. As a future English teacher and just a general lover of words, I find it interesting how one phrase can have so many different meanings. To me, this situation is anything but typical. For Brandon’s family, today was simply a regular day.