I was hurt. And confused.

Dad wasn’t the only one who’d lost Mom. I’d lost her, too. And Andrew. I’d lost two people and now it seemed as if I’d lost Dad as well. He didn’t feel any need to be a family with me. He didn’t want or need the traditions. He didn’t want or need the past. I didn’t like his idea of the future . . . not for us.

I still don’t.

As I park at Napa Estates today, it reminds me all over again of a sprawling, swanky country club in the South. The green lawn flanking the columned main “house” is so perfect I’m tempted to see if it’s real. The building’s glossy white paint and pale cedar shingles contrast nicely with the sparkling large multi-paned windows that show the elegant, gleaming lobby, with its high ceiling and pale, low-pile carpet—suitable for both wheelchairs and walkers.

Mom and Dad had looked at a lot of retirement homes in Sonoma County before choosing Napa Estates as their future home. They liked that the facility had a couple tennis courts and a large swimming pool even though they never played tennis and rarely swam. It was the idea of having the facilities there, just as they liked Napa Estates’ dining room, large gym, library, and movie theater, plus the monthly meetings for Bridge Club and Book Club and Wine Club.

Napa Estates wasn’t just a “place” for seniors, but a community. Their brochure boasts that they create a “microcosm of society that brings successful, mature adults together, recognizing their strengths and gifts.” I think the language of the brochure is a little overwritten but back in December I was impressed with how the retirement home has been designed to cater to all stages of senior living—independent living, assisted living, and memory care—with its focus on healthy living. I admire their goal to keep seniors fit, active, and independent for as long as possible. Of course there’s a financial impetus—healthy seniors’ expenses are less than those of seniors with chronic conditions—but there’s also the quality of life issue. Healthy seniors are happier.

Dad is in the independent wing, with a one-bedroom apartment. He has several friends who have two-bedroom apartments so that guests can stay over. Dad didn’t want that. Said he had no one he’d want to stay. I refused to have hurt feelings. Because I’m not sure I’d want to stay over. Dad is fine in three-or four-hour increments, but beyond that, he gets short and sharp. I love him, but don’t enjoy his company when he gets snappy.

Fortunately, despite Parkinson’s, Dad has been able to stay in the independent living wing, but now that he’s had a fall and needs more help, I’m wondering when the staff will want him to move. Where he is now he gets to live with his own furniture, but apparently that changes in assisted living. I don’t know the specifics. I only know that this morning, in an empty turn-of-the-century farmhouse, I became determined to convince my father that he should move to Arizona to be with me.

• • •

It takes me ten minutes to find Dad after arriving at Napa Estates.