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On Saturday afternoons, I head out to spend a few hours caring for my father-in-law. While I'm with him, my wife goes off shopping or sits waiting in the parking lot of the nursing home where he lives. That may seem odd, but you have to understand that there's a "wicked stepmother" involved who is holds his power of attorney and she has banned Linda from visiting. That's a sad, sad story, but I don't want to spend a lot of time on that.

His name is Severino, but we call him "Sev" or "Sivvy" or "Joe". He's had a bad stroke, is stuck in a wheelchair with one paralyzed arm. He can sometimes speak a few words, but he's mostly aphasic and only shakes his head yes or no to direct questions. The questions have to be simple, though: "Are you cold, Joe? Are you hungry?". Even at that, he sometimes doesn't respond and it's rare that he even opens his eyes.

We don't know how much of this is from brain damage. He wasn't like this right after his stroke; this came much later. That he's depressed and miserable is plain to see, but the Wicked Stepmother refuses to share any medical information with his children. She's a winner: I had to buy the wheelchair he has now because she wasn't about to spend her money to replace the ill-fitting chair he had before this.

We don't tell him that the stepmother banned Linda. He must have loved her once; we don't want to destroy whatever happiness he might still remember from that relationship.

We do want to give him whatever happiness we can. Linda's other siblings also visit as I do; someone is there every afternoon to feed him supper, to clean him up, to talk to him, to wheel him around his prison. It's not much, but it's better than leaving him there to soak in his misery.

Sometimes the few grandchildren he has do visit, but of course they have busy lives and it's unclear if he even recognizes them now. He sleeps a lot, we think.. but when we aren't there, he surely spends his time staring at the same spot for hours.. or he would if his eyes were open.

The staff isn't cruel or uncaring. They do speak to the residents, give them minimal care, but of course there are not enough of them and they are strangers. He needs family, and that is why we go.

No one visits him otherwise. His wife has convinced the rest of his family that he's "completely gone", that there's no point in visiting. We're told by other residents that she does sometimes visit, but pays little attention to him when she does, apparently preferring to spend time volunteering for other tasks the Home needs.. we think that's cruel if he does still love her, but of course we have no way of knowing and don't want to upset him by pressing such personal questions.

Joe was born in Italy. He came here when he was seven. Before his stroke, he visited his home town several times. He loved Italy, and took wonderful photographs on his trips. I mean really wonderful: people asked him if they could buy reproductions. He was shy though, and demurred.

We wish we could put up some of those favorite pictures in his room; the stepmother won't allow it. We wish we could take him out for the day, a change of scenery might bring him a little happiness, but again, no, we are not permitted that kindness. Supposedly that's from medical concerns, but we offered to pay for a nurse to come with us and were still refused. It's just spite and anger.

His son learned some Italian so that he could talk to his Dad in the Home. Joe speaks perfect English of course, but that's just one more attempt to bring some light into his dark life.

Recently I bought him a iPod. While I'm wheeling him around for the four hours I spend with him, the iPod plays his favorite songs. Again, it's not much, but he seems to enjoy it. Small pleasures indeed.

Anyway, Joe's happiness is often on our minds. Can we bring him food he'd like from home? No. Can we buy him a more comfortable seat cushion? Even that was refused for months until we got his physical therapist involved. It's all very frustrating: we want to give him whatever limited happiness we can. There's little enough that we can do even without the nastiness of his guardian thwarting us, but we do try..

Recently I was thinking of the the things I wish for Joe. I wish for him to die peacefully when it is time. I wish him as much freedom from pain and discomfort as he can have. I wish him whatever happiness he can find, but I know that's probably not much.

Really, there's only one thing I can wish him that he might be able to have. Only one that his wife cannot deny him, that no indifference can steal from him. Only one wish for Joe, and it's my deepest wish of all:

I wish you happy dreams, Joe. I know you wake each day to depression and despair, but I hope that in sleep you bask in sunshine and run through the fields of your boyhood home in Italy. I hope you love and laugh and love again.

I wish you happy dreams, Joe.