Reader delivers fitting tribute in memory of father

Editor's Note: This letter was written in memory of the writer's father.

I live in a house now with many others, where we are all strangers.

I want to go back home, but I have lost my way.

It's nice and comfy here, but something is missing.

The meals here are just right, but the longer I stay, the more my appetite disappears.

Here lately, I just don't care much about eating.

I look out the windows and the sun will shine brightly, and sometimes, the sky is cold and gray and the snow is blowing.

But I'm not much interested in that.

I'd rather just stare at the floor or the walls.

I do like to go up and down the hallway, where I seemed to have lost something, but I can't find it.

I see many people there coming and going, same as me.

I go into the many different rooms and try out the beds, usually someone comes and helps me and guides me in a different direction.

We have parties here occasionally.

My family and friends come to see me.

They take pictures of us all together. They hug me and kiss me and tell me they love me.

I don't know what that means, but I think it's good, so I smile a little when they do that, and sometimes, I frown, but I don't know why.

One of those that comes to see me holds my hand and says she is my wife, but I just look at her with a blank stare, because that word wife and her smiling face mean nothing to me.

If I'm a little too warm or too chilly, or have an ache or pain, I want to tell someone about it, but I can't remember how to talk or express my feelings.

I'm not afraid to die now.

I'm not afraid of anything.

I've forgotten how to fear.

And worst of all, I've even forgotten how to love my family and friends.

Now I'll tell you why: I'm in the last stages of Alzheimer's Disease.

Dick Hull,

Brazil