A sad glimpse into the future

So, the in-laws came over this morning to watch the boys. They do this every Friday, and have been for about the past 6 years. DH always makes a little extra coffee for FIL. As usual, they stopped at the doughnut shop to pick up muffins and a cup of weak decaf for MIL. General back and forth activities, in and out of rooms (packing lunches, gathering the recycling...) No, that's my coffee. Kenny made you some, don't drink mine. Here, eat some of your muffin so you can take your pills. OK. My pills are in my pocket. I'll take them after I get my coffee. I don't drink DH's coffee, because he makes it too weak for my taste. Needless to say, MIL won't drink my coffee, since she thinks he makes it too strong. But anyway... FIL puts his pills on the table and starts to read the paper. The in-laws notice DD's outfit (today's an out of uniform day!) and they chat about the day. DD explains the monthly treats of being able to dress exactly how they want to, and get a doughnut at the start of the day. I told you not to drink my coffee. Go get some from the kitchen. Oh, is this yours? I'll go get my own cup. FIL comes to the kitchen to fix himself some coffee and returns to the dining room to read the paper. He reaches in his pocket. Where are my pills? I had them in my pocket. You took them out. Look on the table next to the napkins. But I put them in my pocket. Just look on the table. FIL finds his pills. He eats some food and takes his medicine. This isn't the strongest of the memory aid meds on the market, but it doesn't make him sick like the other one did. That's the trade off. MIL is feeding the boys, now, and DD and I are getting ready to leave. We're running late, I tell her, hurry up and get your hair brushed. You're not wearing your uniform today. Don't you have school? It's an out of uniform day, Pop. It costs 50 cents to be out of uniform and another 50 cents to get a doughnut. We could have brought you a doughnut. Next time we'll bring you a doughnut. We don't need to bring her a doughnut. She's going to eat with her class. FIL begins to sort through some papers he sees on the shelf. It's the pile of corrected school work that I take out of her backpack each evening. We always set it aside in the same place so we can look at it later to see if anything needs to be saved. Do you need these papers? No, Pop. Those are the ones I'm done with. You don't need to take them to school? No. We're not supposed to bring them back. We have to take them out of our folder and leave them at home when they are corrected. DD and I get our coats, we head out the door. As the door is closing, I can hear some conversation from inside. Just use the same cup. No, that's mine, just get more from the kitchen. DH sometimes thinks back to when his grandfather's mind was going, especially after they put him in assisted living, and how hard FIL had to fight with him. I'm thinking forward to when I'm trying to keep DH from losing his pills and taking my coffee. And I wonder if it will be as hard for DD and the boys to figure out how and when to talk about this disease with my grandchildren as it is for me right now.