I didn’t question it when Dad forgot my birthday. There are so many birthdays to celebrate in the family now. I wasn’t surprised; he was in Da Nang when I was born, so he wasn’t even there pacing, wearing holes in the maternity ward carpeting, making funny faces at the bassinet just beyond his reach. He was loading an M16. He named it after me.

I only slightly wondered why he wandered off during his retirement party and drove 10 miles to the house where we used to live. “I wanted to remember all the good times,” he said, brushing off our voiced concern that he had driven after drinking all that booze. “I can hold it,” he insisted.

Then there was the missed dentist appointment, the missing teeth that had ended up in the plumbing. He patted the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the bar. I wondered if Dad was always a lush. “I’ll go to AA,” he promised. I noticed the bottle seemed full.

Two nights ago, the state police came to our door. Dad had driven into a garage attached to a house where he thought we used to live, only there was a car already in it. He didn’t know where he was or who he was or who any of us were anymore. His blood alcohol level was zero.