The day has been full of emotional roller coasters. I have talked to Dad this afternoon, and it is very hard to come to grips with the fact that my father as I knew him is gone. He recalls the picnic that we had today with 16 of his family members in attendance: some of his brothers, Kay's family and myself. He reminds me that I had lunch with him at a picnic in the park, and all I can think of is that I was working until 2. He had to hurry this morning to get dressed because he had to go to a funeral, but he couldn't remember who died. "It was someone's father". A little later, his funeral sermon was laid out and he was insisting on putting on his blue suit "and we need to go to the funeral home as a family". Mom asked him who died and he said "Leslie Powell". That was Dad's father.

Dad is now very docile. Gone is that acerbic wit that we all know and love. I truly don't know how I can make it until Monday's surgery, going along with his stories that constantly remind me that some unknown presence has taken over Dad's mind. He wants to write a speech for Clay. He wants to wear his house shoes to the funeral home. He doesn't like "muffle duffle". Each of these statements are just a hint of the terrible opponent Dad is up against. I pray with all my heart that my father will return to once again tell me just exactly what his opinion is, because his opinion is always right. And I will listen. I promise, Dad.