Jack died, while I was away. It's been seventeen days since I've been here. Carol also died, Carol Ann Baltosciewicz, but the name alone does not tell me who that is, was.

My dad is in bed. He was in the bathroom when I got here. Dirk was helping him with his business in there.

Jack was 94. He was a presence here. His straining voice. His love for his wife, Margaret, who lives in the apartment wing of the retirement community. They were married 65 years. Don't you go through that door now, Jack. I can hear one or more CNAs telling him that in the lunchroom. Don't you go through that door. But he would. The back door that led to the main dining hall, where he knew his wife would be eating.

I'm in my dad's room on B Hall. Rudy catches Tony getting into something he shouldn't and intervenes. Tony flintstones himself out of his room, and out of B hall, headed to the Bird Room or maybe an early lunch. An OG, Tony has always carried himself with such a pleasant, warm vibe but I guess we all get into a little trouble now and then.

Physical therapist Stephanie is sitting at one of the tables on B hall. Making notes. It's Stephanie, and Brad, who I remember taking Jack into the break room so he could play the piano that sits in there otherwise untouched. Jack played the piano well, all the way to the end. He had a full, white head of hair. He managed still to somehow look so tanned. He got outside here and there, must have. I only remember seeing him out in the courtyard a couple of times. He would try to talk, get agitated. Then Margaret would usher him inside...