The orange
My father had another episode in May of 2019 and landed in the emergency room again. My aunt, who had refused to communicate with me about him as she was looking after him, finally had to call me.
We met at the hospital. The first thing out of her mouth was that she had sold his car, and she was worried about how we were going to access his bank accounts.
I told her that I had had power of attorney on his accounts since March of 2018, when the first delirium attack had occurred and landed him in hospital for close to a month.
She feigned relief, but her look was comical. She thought she was going to figure out how to control the money.
I had stayed quiet and distant for a year, only monitoring his calls, which had progressively ceased. She was the only inbound caller at that point, and he rarely answered.
I hadn’t touched the bank accounts or credit cards, but I was ready to go. She had no say.
We went to Marshalls with his credit card and got him some hospital clothing, nice, comfy pants and shirts. I always liked to try to dress my dad. He had good taste and appreciated good taste, and I always sought to dress him as a regal, preppy surf bum.
