"His sugar is at 55," my sister, Nancy, says authoritatively as she wheels her father-in-law from his "bedroom" — the family dining room where he has been staying since his wife died seven years ago — to the kitchen.

Nancy steers Clarke to the table and places a cup of yogurt before him. "He's been all over the board lately," she adds, explaining the fluctuation in his blood sugar level. "Yesterday he was at 240."

With her father-in-law settled in to eating breakfast, Nancy returns to the bedroom and gathers the soiled sheets, then heads to the laundry room. Before long, I can hear the whirr of the washing machine, and Nancy is again in the bedroom putting fresh linens on Grandpa's bed.

This is how she or her husband, Mark, begin each day, taking care of Clarke, 90, whose health has been significantly compromised by diabetes, Parkinson's disease, and mini-strokes. But today their morning routine is busier than usual, as they also are preparing for their youngest son's high school graduation party, which will be held in their home later that day.

"Are you excited about my graduation party, Gramps?" asks David as he enters the kitchen, pausing to run his hand affectionately over his grandfather's bald head. Gramps, who is watching the food preparations going on around him, nods, all the while keeping his attention focused on the deviled eggs my daughter is stuffing and the watermelon I am cutting up. Held to a fairly strict diet, he's always on the lookout for "forbidden" treats.

"Gramps, are you going to party with us tonight?" David asks again, trying to shift his attention. "Remember, there's going to be a bonfire."

The mention of a fire sparks Clarke's interest, and a slow smile of recognition creases his face.

Clarke came to live with my sister's family in 1999, the year their oldest son, Matt, graduated from high school. Then 84, Clarke occasionally used a walker and was mobile enough to attend graduation and join the family afterwards at a restaurant. And during the party, when it was time to light the backyard bonfire, a tradition at all family celebrations, Clarke made his way across the slightly uneven lawn to join the others around the fire.

Four years later, when my nephew, Andrew, graduated from high school, we traveled again to Illinois, where my sister's family lives. At that time, I could clearly see the toll the intervening years had taken on Clarke's health: Confined most of the time to a wheelchair, he had to rely more so on others to care for him. And he had to be wheeled to the bonfire, where he stayed only a short while before being taken back inside and gotten ready for bed.

At last week's graduation party, it was obvious that Clarke's health had deteriorated. He is harder to awaken each morning, Nancy says, and routinely messes the bed. More physically compromised, he is less able to move around at night, causing bedsores to occur, and his poor circulation slows the healing.

Even moving him from the wheelchair to the toilet takes planning, as Mark often gives Clarke a snack beforehand so he has the energy to assist in the transfer. And during David's party, he seemed more confused, asking several times for Helen, his deceased wife.

At bedtime, though, as Clarke sat at the kitchen table eating a night snack, he could see the flames of the bonfire reflected in the window. "That's our fire out there," he said proudly.

No longer able to join the partygoers around the fire, he is still warmed by the remembered pleasure.

Linda K. Schmitmeyer is a freelance writer living in Middlesex Township. Her e-mail address is lks260@zoominternet.net.