So an introduction first?
I'm in the second anniversary of my mid-twenties, single, sort of experiencing empty nest, although two of my four kids are still living here, and are in and out so fast I barely have time to see which of them it is flying past me, down the steps, out the door, into their lives.
My Dad recently moved in with me, and that's what this blog is about today.
It's Thanksgiving, and Dad and I and my sister and her fiance will have a small turkey later, with some stuffing that hopefully turns out moist and yet not greasy (I usually create something either really dry or really saturated with too much butter). I was going to skip the whole thing, and he actually said, "Don't do anything or plan anything, I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone, I just want to read my book." Then we saw a new doctor on Tuesday. During the question and answer period of this bizarre little program called "Seeing your Dad age and feeling helpless", it comes out that Dad is depressed. That he doesn't see any future. That he doesn't have anything to look forward to. Although he likes to play bingo at the senior center 2 or 3 days a week, and as long as he has a book to read he's happy. Or at least content.
The doctor called me yesterday with the blood test results, and Dad is anemic (not severely) and has cholesterol "thru the roof". During the visit, the doctor asked Dad if he was taking his medication,
Dad's reply, I'm all fouled up about that, I don't know. ?????? Really???? Of course what he has been telling me is that every Sunday he fills up his days of the week med container so he has meds for the morning, and a second container for evening. ????? Ok, so I called Dad from work (and he answered, other wise when I got home I would have had to delete the missed call from his phone, he can't get a handle on that skill) and tell him start taking your cholesterol medication. "Ok, ok, I'll start taking it today." Now, do I monitor this? Do I start checking his meds, force feeding them to him? He's 89, by the way, and still drives, can shower, take care of heating up food, read, and shuffle around from his room to the bathroom, by himself with a cane. Oh, except, now he's started falling. And says he hasn't hit his head or gotten hurt, but could that have something to do with the anemia? Which the doctor very generously offered to send me a kit so Dad's poop can be tested. "Just follow the directions when you get it." Oh no. I do not handle poop. Where is the service that comes in for that?
But I digress. Well, now I'm making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Not huge, but turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, a veggie, you get the gist. My sister will bring dessert, and a bottle of wine. yay. I'll need that for sure.
He's always been tough, my Dad. While we were growing up we were terrified of him. Not like, wait till your father gets home, no way, my Mom was always trying to protect us. He didn't beat us, but he was very threatening, not a warm or affectionate man. Yet, I remember sitting on his lap when I was little, I think I used to launch myself at him, whether he liked it or not. He still calls me Babe, I'm the youngest. Although I overheard him call my sister babe on the phone Sunday. I was so sad. That was the one thing he had given me, almost traditional, and I was the only one who had been given, a nickname. Now he uses it like "hon" or "sweetie" so he doesn't have to remember who he's talking to.
He had a gun collection, and a very military way of raising us and teaching us discipline and blind obedience. Naturally, I became a very rebellious teenager and acted out all over the place. But that's for another time. We'd be outside and the task of the day was moving that pile of rocks to that location, and when we'd finish, he'd say, now move it back. No explanation, and you better not ask why. Of course I would. The death stare, held for several minutes, me staring back, but I always dropped my eyes first. And complied. Not a lot of hugs, and even now, if anyone walks toward him with their arms open, he waves them away, No no don't come near me, I don't want to get sick. And he's so skinny now, so frail. He was this big, mean, son of a bitch, now he's a stooped, fragile old man. It is depressing. And I feel isolated and alone with him, sometimes impatient with him. But I'm not afraid of him anymore. And for some reason, that makes me sad.
