Your Friday Jack

The Fight to Remember What You Remember

(Ed. Note: There is nothing really new about any of the following; still . . . . )

Got a call today from one of the nurses at the Hebrew Home that my father was walking around the campus, looking for his wife, my mother. I arrived at his apartment a few minutes later and found him sitting in his chair, in front of the TV, which wasn’t on.

“Hey, Dad. What are you doing?”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Listen, you know this, and you forgot — that happens — but she died 23 years ago.”

“What do you mean she died?”

“Had cancer. You were there. We were all there.”

“Oh my God! Why didn’t I know?”

“You knew. You know.”

“And what about my tax return? What do I owe?”

“You don’t owe anything.”

“How much did I make?”

“It was all social security money. You didn’t owe anything.”

“Did I get a refund?”

“No.”

“Who did my tax return?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you know?”

“It was easy.”

“What do you mean she died?”

“She died in 1999. You were there. And you remember — you know this, believe me — but the mind plays tricks when you’re this age.”

“Back up, she died?”

“Yeah, she died.”

“So who did my tax return?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“She died?”

“Yeah, she died. Hey, listen, let me make you a cup of coffee.”