(Author's Note: I'm not calling Daniel's condition Alzheimer's disease because I don't believe that was how it was referred to in the 1950s. I think the common use of that name came much later. But then again, I am neither a doctor nor an expert.)
Hawkeye took B.J. to visit his dad the next day, with the idea that they'd tag-team as they explained to Daniel that a nursing home was in his near future… and there was no room for debate.
Although Daniel had met B.J. numerous times since 1953, he did not recognize his son's best friend.
"Dad, this is B.J. You know him… he and I served together at the 4077th."
Daniel nodded but clearly it did not ring a bell, not in that moment. He gestured them inside, through his living room and into the kitchen, where he asked Hawkeye to make coffee.
There was small talk about the weather ("We got 13 inches of snow last Friday!") while Hawkeye busied himself brewing coffee. After he poured three cups and got out the cream and sugar, he took a seat next to B.J., subconsciously positioning the two of them opposite Daniel on the other side. It made Hawkeye's heart heavy to realize he was about to demand his father move into a home because they were out of options. This was not how he'd envisioned his dad's retirement.
Daniel sipped his coffee but was squinting at B.J., still trying to place the face. "I'm sorry, who did you say you were again?"
B.J. was patience personified as he repeated his name. "I was a surgeon at the 4077th M*A*S*H along with Hawkeye. In the war."
"Oh, the 4077th. Yes, of course, the Army hospital in Korea. My son served there, did you boys know him?"
Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Hawkeye felt a chill run down his back. B.J. was struck speechless, but Hawkeye couldn't blame him.
"Dad," Hawkeye said calmly, "I'm your son. I'm Hawkeye." He let that sink in for a moment, and then he continued, pointing toward B.J. "This is B.J. and I met him in Korea. He's my best friend, and you have met him before—quite a few times before."
He could see his father absorbing that information, and it tore his heart to pieces as he watched his dad's face crumple. The old man put his hands over his eyes, apparently embarrassed. He seemed to be more lucid when he spoke again, "What's wrong with me? I don't understand what's wrong with me…"
Hawkeye, his voice gentle, explained it again. "It's dementia, Dad. It's a brain disorder, and it's not your fault that this has happened to you."
Although he'd told Daniel those same words before, for some reason, this time they seemed to hit home. Daniel inhaled sharply and then began to sob, and Hawkeye moved quickly around the table to take his dad into his arms, comforting as best he could.
When the dust settled, when Hawkeye and B.J. were finally able to talk to him about the nursing home, Daniel nodded his acceptance. It was clear, even to him in his addled state, that that was the only solution that made sense.