Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. – Psalm 19:14

Dad has turned the page and is living his last chapter after a tough bout of Covid right after Christmas. He was hospitalized for a week and is now navigating life in skilled nursing, but with his dementia, he doesn’t completely understand it all.

Some days, he is Delmar as we have all known him to be for the last several years. Other days, he needs help with hygiene and dressing himself.

Dad uses a walker, something he refused to do one month ago. I think he understands that walking is easier with it, now that his remaining strength is waning. He is restless all day long in his dementia and can be seen peeking out from his room, walker leading the way, anxious to walk the halls and find something or someone to watch besides his four walls.

I have noticed in the past two weeks that he has begun to mumble a little, talking to himself without realizing it. It has only happened a handful of times, but when I have questioned him about what he has just said, he looks at me with a blank face, unaware that he had just said anything. Another new sign of this condition…

He no longer reads, a favorite pastime that used to keep him busy for hours. He doesn’t attempt to understand the TV remote but watches whatever happens to be on the screen, chosen by the caregiver or visitor to his room. So on Tuesday afternoon as I sat with Dad in his room sharing a sub sandwich and his favorite potato chips, I decided to find something on TV for him to watch besides the depressing and incessant political firestorm. I chose The 700 Club, thinking Dad might enjoy some inspirational stories while I read my first day’s homework assignment on literary modernism.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the TV. Dad was eating chips. I smiled, remembering how he loves chips and passed that down to his youngest child. I have no willpower, I thought, and neither does Dad. I went back to attempting to focus on Gertrude Stein and James Joyce, when all of a sudden, Dad mumbled something.

I looked up at him, thinking he was talking to me, but he was staring at the TV. I wrote down what he said in the margin, because it was meant to be heard and remembered:

“God loves you…thank you, God.”

I immediately thought of the scripture that Josephine taught all the kids at the Friends Church in Hutchinson so many years ago that is part of my prayer life even now. “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, my Strength, and my Redeemer.” Dad speaks out loud without realizing it, but what comes out is what is in his heart.

We keep a camera in his room to monitor his movements now that he is prone to falls, and my phone notifies me when there is activity of any kind. That night, when dementia was in full bloom, Dad got up out of bed and made his way to the bathroom in the darkness. This happens many times a night, and we are certain that Dad has no recollection that he gets up a dozen times in the night. But I review the video clips each morning after, just to be sure everything is okay.

At 9:18 pm, on his way back to bed, he spoke very loudly, “Help me, Lord.”

I am so very grateful that my Dad has such a beautiful heart that the words he speaks are life giving and honoring to God, even when he is unaware. What a blessing it is to be a witness to Dad’s living testimony.