Our father, before he was in Heaven, was in Room 105 at a nursing home. But he wasn’t all there in Room 105. His body was always there, but his mind often toured the Universe. It was in his last two months that he became violent and had to be strapped down. Prior to that he was lucid sometimes, and senile most times.
When he dressed himself, he would put his shirt on inside out and complain, “I don’t know what is wrong with my shirt, but it’s hard doing up the buttons.”
Most times he would remember who people were when they came to visit him, but he would greet them repeatedly forgetting how he had already greeted them. He would keep greeting them right up until the time they left. After they left he would say, “Gee, when is so-and-so coming to visit me?” He forgot that so-and-so had just left.
Because of our father’s behavior, “Room 105” became another way expressing senility with our family. Whenever one of us does something suggesting feeble-mindedness, the others will shout, “Room 105! Room 105!” Simply saying, “Room 105!” is short for saying, “You’re senile and belong in Room 105.”
Our father, before he was in Heaven, was in Room 105 at a nursing home. But he wasn’t all there in Room 105. His body was always there, but his mind . . .