The dark side of parent-sitting

4/17/08
It’s been a tough couple of days on the home front.

While the visit from my uncle Jack was great, it has made me decide that visitors can no longer stay in the apartment. They must find a hotel. Why? Well, let me tell you.

Dad is exhausted. While he enjoyed having his brother here, I think just the exertion of having someone here and all the talking and visiting they did wore him out. He was doing pretty good right before Jack came and now he’s back to his lowest baseline. I’m still glad Jack came, however, as it will probably be the last time he will get to see him.

It is so difficult watching my father just hang in there every day. He’s so thin and emaciated and seeing him shuffle through the apartment, just surviving, kills me. He was always so active, golfing almost every day, going for long walks, etc. Now, his day consists of sleeping about 16 hours on and off, sitting out on the porch when the sun is out and laying in bed, watching TV. When he’s feeling strong, he goes for a walk around the block, during which he has to sit down at least three or four times. He’s trying to keep going, he’s trying to keep active, but it’s obvious that his body is failing him. His eyesight is getting worse and Mom is very worried about him driving.

Sometimes, I have the terrible thought that I wish he would just give up. He’s not living a life that I think he would rather live. He struggles every day just to get through the day. The amount of pills he has to take would choke a horse. He struggles to keep it all straight. His mind is slowing fading and he struggles to get through a sentence. I don’t know how he feels about it but I know sometimes I can see how hard this struggle is for him in his eyes. Sometimes, I think he’s very sad about his existence but he continues to go on simply because he can. Maybe that’s something – continuing on simply because he can.

And the wear on my mother sometimes is horrible. She worries about Dad constantly, exhibiting it by screaming and yelling at him and me and everyone in a 10 mile radius. Last night, I thought I was going to have to sedate her. Dad apparently “almost drove up a wall”, which probably means he drove past a wall, and Mom got out of the car, sobbing and shaking, swearing she will never get in the car with him again (right in front of him), yelling about how much she hates this apartment and that the laundry room is filthy and disgusting and nothing works and she will never do laundry in there again. She’s standing over Dad last night, yelling at him as he’s trying to find a pill he has to take because he can’t find the right bottle. Instead of helping him, she expresses her frustration by yelling at him about how incompetent he is that he can’t find a pill bottle. Gee, wonder where my issues come from.

I know she must be struggling, too, watching Dad deteriorate and become a shell of the man he once was. I know she’s frustrated because she’s not working and has nowhere to go and nothing to do. But she won’t do anything. I try to take her out once a week at least and I was stunned that she wanted to see “Juche Rules” last week because she normally doesn’t want to leave the house. And I know she means the best and is terrified of losing him, but I also think she would be happier if he were in a nursing home or somewhere that he can be taken care of instead of here, where his imminent passage hovers over the house like a cloak some days.

I can’t take it some days. Sometimes, I escape to work or writing or the theater. Some days, I feel compelled to stay and try to referee between my weak, sad father and my terrified, angry mother. Some days, I just want to take the bottle of Jameson’s on the fridge and drink until it’s empty and I can’t hear them anymore.

I couldn’t get out of bed this morning because last night was so bad. I did not want to get up and face them. I wanted to hide under the covers with my cat, sleep until my body woke me up, then have a quiet, contemplative morning by myself. I finally dragged myself out of bed and went out to face the living room.

Mom has calmed down somewhat and is preparing to do laundry in the “filthy disgusting” laundry facilities here. She’s not shrieking, for a change, which is an improvement, I guess. I haven’t seen Dad yet, as he was sleeping when I got up and is now getting some sun on the porch. I’ve given up trying to get work done this morning as I can’t focus, I’m too distracted and exhausted to do much. Should make rehearsal interesting later today.

I just hope today is better and that Dad’s rallying back once again, as he does at the most unexpected times. I’ll cross my fingers for some peace and quiet today and that Mom may find some peace today herself. And I will, as always, be grateful for one more day with my father, no matter what his condition. But some day soon, I’m going to need some relief and some comfort myself or I’m not sure I’ll make it through.