Simple Questions Without Simple Answers

"How's your dad?" From the surface, this seems like such a simple question for a friend to ask.  Little do they often realize how complicated that caring inquiry is.     It would be so nice to be able to answer, "He's doing well, thanks." Unfortunately, that's not the case.  My dad's life over the past four years has been a series of downward spirals, punctuated by small upward slopes where which seem to quickly get taken down by the force of gravity.  This destructive pattern has led my brother and I to operate in a "what next" mode.   Just when we've thought we've seen it all, my dad manages to surprise us in his drive to obtain alcohol.   Some of the worst days were prior to his injury; when you'd go over to his house and find him passed out in his house with no food, soaking in his own urine, and the furniture toppled over. But even after his injury - while living at a group home - he managed to call a cab and make it back to Maplewood, get a cash advance at his old credit union, buy booze, and gain entrance into his house to drink like the old days. He made us acutely aware of what great lengths he would go to in order to "gain" back his former lifestyle. Not having cash on hand forced him to be really creative. At his next residence, after observing vendors at Minnehaha Park selling fresh fruits and vegetables, he realized that he could take his own acrylic paintings off the wall that he used to sell for upwards of $500 and find a buyer for $25 in cash to take up the street for vodka.   Three residences later we continue to deal with his antics. The latest, a refusal to leave his room for food or medication, left his program director no choice but to call the sheriff to haul him away in handcuffs and take him by ambulance to the local hospital on the mental health unit for a 72- hour hold.   He says it was in response to his TV being broken and not being able to watch his programs in his room. I called my brother yesterday about Thanksgiving Day plans, and he was somewhat shocked that it was my only reason for getting in touch with him.  He explained that now whenever he sees my number pop up, he usually assumes it's because my dad's been involved in some incident at his residence.   I could go on and on about how my dad is doing. It changes daily, and lately not for the better.   We keep hoping that he'll reach a point of partial contentment with respect to his residence, and also accept that alcohol won't be part of that picture.  These days, we are just happy in knowing that no news is good news. When people ask me how my dad is doing these days, unless they have five or ten minutes,  I've been sticking with a more simple reply:  "He's safe, and he's sober."