I know I got a good night’s rest because I didn’t fall asleep during church this morning.

Timber is living in my best friend Leslie’s childhood home in Dahlonega while completing her ER clinical rotation. Because Mr. and Mrs. McAbee are on vacation for the next couple weeks, my parents and I visited Timber this weekend. My public-facing pleasant facade quickly devolved, not only because I feel comfortable in the McAbees’ house but also because I remained frustrated from a family spat that had taken place a couple weeks prior. Despite my efforts to feign contentment, I couldn’t hide my irritation and came across like a teenage bitch, self-absorbed and intent on making everyone else’s life a living hell as well. Aware of my vexation, Timber kept asking me what was wrong. However, I couldn’t find the right words to accurately express how I felt — a plight that Alzheimer’s sufferers eventually face in the progression of the disease. I guess my reticence resulted from years of built-up animosity that can’t be summed up in an hour-long discussion or therapy session — and only can be understood by one of the members of my nuclear family.

Daddy at 2 Dog

Still, I wonder if an Alzheimer’s sufferer who points to a jug of sweet tea and asks someone to pass the whatchyamacallit, or who snaps his fingers while identifying an old friend as whoseywhatsit, feels the way I did, choking on thoughts that refuse to move from mind to tongue.

This loss of vocabulary and down the road, speech, explains why many Alzheimer’s patients cry out of exasperation. After Timber continued prodding me, I burst into tears because I didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

Wages sandwich

I eventually let down my unpleasant guard and lay beside Daddy in Leslie’s bed where he had been napping all afternoon after lunch at 2 Dog in Gainesville, the neighboring town. I forced Timber and Mother to join us for a daughter sandwich, flanked by Mother on one side and Daddy on the other. I suggested we skinny dip together in the McAbees’ pool, but everyone refused.

“You would swim naked if it were just you and Mother, wouldn’t you, Daddy?” I asked.

“I most certainly would NOT!” he huffed.

Mother and Timber left fully clothed for the pool, and I followed them naked — my style of a peace offering, a heartfelt truce.

When Mother and Daddy arrived home that evening, she immediately zonked out on the couch and didn’t wake up until 7 the next morning.

“I know I got a good night’s rest because I didn’t fall asleep during church this morning,” Mother said on the phone. (Her head typically rolls around during every sermon.)

Mother might think solid sleep prepared her for a boring Sunday service, but I prefer to believe our family spooning session on Leslie’s bed is what rejuvenated her the most.