The situation at the convalescent home was patched up. When all was said and done, it was decided that Father would spend the next three days there, a sort of trial period. If it turned out that they simply couldn’t take care of him, he would have to be returned home. I was at a loss, however. I really didn’t know what to do. I simply couldn’t think of a way to allow Father to live out his days peacefully. I no longer dared to think that I could make his ‘golden years’ happy, I just wanted him to be at peace. That’s all; that would be enough. I was advised to put Father in a psychiatric ward, but I just couldn’t do it: wouldn’t that be tantamount to giving up on him? I thought the best thing I could do would be to quit work. I just couldn’t send him to such a place. No matter how I looked at it, this was a problem that couldn’t be dealt with rationally – it was a problem of the heart. My heart just wouldn’t let me make such a choice.

Sometime later – Father had been back from the convalescent home for about a day or so – I had just come home from work when I saw him smiling quite contentedly. He didn’t wait for me to ask him what was going on, he just told me in an excited voice that the organization had given him a new assignment, and he was going back to work!

For that whole day, Father was so happy and delighted.