I felt guilty and thought a labelmaker would be a nice idea, and at first it helped: he labeled one group of meds NOON and the other AFTERNOON. He organized the pantry into Tupperware tubs like Mom used to and printed out SPECIAL K and LAYS SALT VINEGAR. Then he tapped out SON and stuck it on my arm and we both had a laugh. When I visited for Thanksgiving he put little slips on all the empty seats like BEVERLY and HARRY and MARTHA. At Christmas he titled the two of us who came FAMILY and our pair of last-minute presents GIFTS. When I stopped by in March for a conference he'd labeled all the old vacation pictures BOCA RATON, attached a list to the TV that went LOST NCIS M.A.S.H, and tacked notes to the front door that said HELLO and on the back GOODBYE AGAIN. I was back home in Tucson when I noticed the slip on my briefcase saying SOON? He seemed okay when I called him the two times but by next Thanksgiving he'd done up the kitchen cabinets with FORKS TOASTER PLATES and his mail all said JUNK and the phone FAMILY and I was SON SON SON and the empty half of his bed was MARTHA, and the still-pink turkey proclaimed DONE and my empty plate cheered CLEAN, and when Christmas came and I forgot to snag something in the terminal I was the GIFT and he was CRAZY and the empty seats were RIGHT and the spilled pills each read MORNING, and when we came to take him to the home my sister was BEVERLY and I was HARRY and Ann Arbor was BOCA RATON and as we unpacked a box he'd tagged CRAP he fished the thing out and put a strip on my arm that said SON and after that he didn't really label much anymore and I didn't really visit, and one of the nurses asked me if I wanted to take it but I worried about what it would look like when I started making labels, too, and after the funeral the boxes ended up in my garage and I never seem to be able to get them to the curb and sometimes I print one that says DAD and then leave the labelmaker with the rest of his junk.

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