My father has a difficult personality. As I write, he has chosen to move 1900 miles across country to where he will live just blocks from my house.
My sister, who lives in another part of the country, calls my answering machine repeatedly. She laughs maniacally, and hangs up. These calls are sympathetic.
A Master's degree has not insulated my father against what I suspect to be early Alzheimer's. When the time comes and he needs to be institutionalized, I will shove him into the foulest nursing home I can find. There he can sit in soiled diapers, bite his feeding assistants, and scream vulgarities at people cleaning his bedsores.
Because neither my brother nor I will visit him; there will be no slow to his decline.
It's not like they could sue me for neglect.
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