As Dad's dementia progresses, with an increase in speech difficulties and a decrease in short-term memory, I find I more and more miss his sense of humor. My dad, you see, is and always will be one of the funniest people I will know. His sense of humor ran from slapstick to wry and droll, and was highlighted by his ability to verbally spar. Here's what I mean...

I grew up in New Jersey, where decorating homes and yards for the winter holidays was a big deal. Looking back, I realize there was a spirit of good-natured competition, never expressed but always present.

Our neighbor across the street thought very highly of my dad. And one year, as Dad was finishing up our lights, this neighbor came across the street and asked Dad for his opinion regarding the house lights across the way. Sagely, my father nodded and complimented the neighbor, but indicated he needed more lights.

Dutifully, the neighbor went to the store and bought more lights. Once they were positioned on his house, he again asked Dad for his opinion. "More lights," Dad answered.

This exchange was repeated over and over. And after several trips to the store, thousands of lights and hundreds of man-hours (OK, I exaggerate here), Dad looked the neighbor in the eye and said, "Good job. Now the planes will be able to land."

My dad had been teasing the neighbor! And, frankly, even as a little girl I did find the amount of lights...well...almost blinding. My dad has always been one to poke the bear. to stir the pot, with his wit.

Recently, we all went out to dinner to celebrate my oldest son's 18th birthday. Dad knew it was a special occasion, but could not remember what it was. I find that Dad will not remember what triggers an emotion, but will remember the emotion and try and fill in the blanks. As we sat down, Dad indicated he did not have his wallet. We explained that we were buying dinner, as it was our son Buster's birthday. Dad asked how old Buster was, and we said 18. Dad nodded and said, "Old enough to vote!" I agreed, and added that he is also old enough for the military.

As dinner progressed, this conversation repeated itself ad nauseam. Soon, we all entered into the spirit and waited eagerly for Dad to question the event. We would rush to be the first to say "Old enough to vote" or "Eligible for the draft." As we all laughed and played, I noticed that every time Dad would ask and we would answer with either the vote or draft comment, Dad would supply the other. It did not take long for the laughter to build and spill over. We were all enjoying ourselves so much.

As I looked around at my children and husband, I was so happy to see them interacting and playing with Dad. I turned to look at him and saw his face was lit, his eyes were dancing and he could barely contain his laughter. Our eyes met, and he smiled and sweetly asked, "Can Buster vote now?" I realized Dad was pulling our leg. My Dad, the funny Dad, the Dad who loved to tease, made an unexpected appearance.

Where I had thought we were "pulling the strings," it was my dad who was poking fun at us. For me, this was a reminder that my dad is "still there" but can't always come out to play. I'm also reminded that, while caregiving can be tough, the joy that comes with it makes it so rewarding for me. I have said before and will say again, it is the moments—not the minutia—that make caregiving work for me.