It's only Tuesday, and this week already feels too long.
My dad has been moved into a nursing home. Apparently his condition has worsened to the point where his doctors were adamant that he not live alone anymore. He's been disoriented, has fallen down several times, and has probably had several small seizures and strokes. My aunt and uncle, who have overseen his care and finances since he had a major stroke ten years ago, moved him out of his apartment and into a nursing home near them. I had no idea any of this was happening, as my dad really is not the best communicator in the world. So getting the news was like getting punched in the stomach multiple times.
The latest developments in my dad's 27-year illness have reopened some old wounds (that probably were never healed to begin with). At times like this I am reminded of how deeply devastating my dad's disability has been for me and the rest of my family (not to mention his side of the family). I guess there are some things that you just never get over. You just learn to live with them because you have no fucking choice. That's what sucks about life.
I feel like my whole life I've been waiting for my dad to die. And when I heard the news, it felt like finally it was all coming to an end. I was so stricken with a multitude of emotions. And then I realized that as prepared as I am for the phone call that my dad has passed away, whenever it may come, the truth is I'm not prepared at all. I am not ready to lose him completely yet; I am not ready to say goodbye.
I want my dad to meet Charlie. And he wants to meet Charlie. According to my aunt, he asks about Charlie all the time and wants to see pictures. I spent tonight making him a photo album, and tomorrow I will mail it out. I am happy to contribute something, to do something that will bring him some comfort. I wish that I could be there. I feel hugely guilty that I am not. I don't feel like I have the right to my own life when my dad is suffering. But I know he wants me to live and be happy.
But anyway, my dad is not dying in the sense that they can see the end of his life just around the corner. He is dying in the sense that he's got a ticking time bomb of an inoperable vascular tumor in his brain. All of his symptoms (that he's had for years) are intensifying. He needs round-the-clock care now, but it's my impression that he's still himself. Which makes me so, so happy.
The plan is to go see him while we're in Texas in December. I wish I could see him sooner. But I know it'll be a great day when he can finally meet his grandson.
I never really ask for this unless I really need it, but please keep us all in your thoughts and prayers. I'm not in a really good place right now, because of this and because I'm processing some other big, huge, life-changing things. When it rains, it really fucking pours. Oh yes, it does.