“I am going out to the bakery”, said the old man to his son, who was basking in the sun, reading a newspaper.
“Dad,just tell me what you want, I will get it for you”, replied his son.
“No, I will get it myself”, said the father.
“Please Dad…”, urged his son.
“Why do you keep me cooped up, son!, I m going, don’t stop me. And anyway, the shop is just round the corner”, insisted the old man as he headed out of the gate.
“Fine, do whatever you want to”, exasperated, angry, his son replied, going back to his newspaper.
It felt good to be outside. He did not remember how long it was since he had been last out. He walked round the block, past the grocers and the chemist. He felt buoyant. He was fine, he wondered why his son had made such a fuss. He was just going to buy a loaf of bread.
Ah! There was the Bakery across the road as he turned round the corner.
As he stepped down from the walk to cross the road, it happened.
Where was he? Who was he? Confusion. He dropped to the ground. A car honked and screeched to a halt.
“I am here, Dad, I am here”, someone said as strong hands lifted him up.
The son. Who had followed his father all the way.
Early Alzheimers, bouts of forgetfulness. His father’s condition. He had not been angry, just worried when his Dad had insisted on going out.
“Let me get you home”.
As they walked back together, the old man leaning on his son, the latter whispered.
“I might sound harsh sometimes, Dad, but I will always be there for you. Always”.