Adulthood sucks
Growing up I couldn't wait to be an adult. Hell what could it be bad? You got up when you wanted, partied, and the only person you were responsible for was you.
Then I got a full time job and realized that sleepng and partying part of adulthood had flown the coop. Still, I was only resposible for me... and then I got married... bought a house and my responsibility circle extended outward just a little.
Parenthood changed everything. Sleeping, partying... pfft gone with that first baby cry and those responsibilities now kept me up at night. With parenthood came a new angle, worry. Yeah, this adult thing... not always so grand.
And today I experienced a part of adulthood that no one ever told me about. When the parent becomes the child and you have to step up to make the decisions that had once belonged to the people who had raised you.
After a few years of slowly deteriorating health (both physically and mentally) a number of hospital stays, as well as a horrific six weeks in what laughingly was called a rehab, today my family had to settle my father in an assisted living facility on the transition floor.
What is the transition floor you ask? It's the floor in the assisted living facility where people with alzheimer or dementia stay. Honestly, the place is magnificent. The people that we met today, caring and understanding, answering every single one of my stupid, ridiculous, worrywart questions without an eyeroll. My father's room is homey (or will be when I finish bringing more of his life to him) with a brand new modern bathroom. He's got a great view out his window and I think I can breathe a bit easier having him.
But this is my dad. The World War II vet. The New York City fireman. The man who called me "pussycat" and would read to me every night when I was growing up. This was the person who showed my how to slide down a fire pole, taught me to love books, the written word and passed down his love of all things sci fi and fantasy to me.
That man doesn't exist anymore, only in my memories. He remembers me, knows that I'm his daughter, but I think my name is lost to him somewhere. My daughter has become me and I believe to my dad, I've become my sister who passed away two years ago. But when we left him today, he was busy talking to a woman eating at the table with him. He appeared happy which at this stage, is all I wish for.
In my heart I KNOW this is the right decision but can someone please explain to me why I feel like I deserted my child on the first day of school in a place full of strangers. I'm waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the note that he had a good day. For that gold star. For that smile of happy contentment.
I don't want to be adult anymore.
Then I got a full time job and realized that sleepng and partying part of adulthood had flown the coop. Still, I was only resposible for me... and then I got married... bought a house and my responsibility circle extended outward just a little.
Parenthood changed everything. Sleeping, partying... pfft gone with that first baby cry and those responsibilities now kept me up at night. With parenthood came a new angle, worry. Yeah, this adult thing... not always so grand.
And today I experienced a part of adulthood that no one ever told me about. When the parent becomes the child and you have to step up to make the decisions that had once belonged to the people who had raised you.
After a few years of slowly deteriorating health (both physically and mentally) a number of hospital stays, as well as a horrific six weeks in what laughingly was called a rehab, today my family had to settle my father in an assisted living facility on the transition floor.
What is the transition floor you ask? It's the floor in the assisted living facility where people with alzheimer or dementia stay. Honestly, the place is magnificent. The people that we met today, caring and understanding, answering every single one of my stupid, ridiculous, worrywart questions without an eyeroll. My father's room is homey (or will be when I finish bringing more of his life to him) with a brand new modern bathroom. He's got a great view out his window and I think I can breathe a bit easier having him.
But this is my dad. The World War II vet. The New York City fireman. The man who called me "pussycat" and would read to me every night when I was growing up. This was the person who showed my how to slide down a fire pole, taught me to love books, the written word and passed down his love of all things sci fi and fantasy to me.
That man doesn't exist anymore, only in my memories. He remembers me, knows that I'm his daughter, but I think my name is lost to him somewhere. My daughter has become me and I believe to my dad, I've become my sister who passed away two years ago. But when we left him today, he was busy talking to a woman eating at the table with him. He appeared happy which at this stage, is all I wish for.
In my heart I KNOW this is the right decision but can someone please explain to me why I feel like I deserted my child on the first day of school in a place full of strangers. I'm waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the note that he had a good day. For that gold star. For that smile of happy contentment.
I don't want to be adult anymore.