I guess I am the Boss
Tomorrow night I head to KC for my annual girls weekend. I have been griping about going because it's the weekend before my last big party, I'm missing 3 days of paid time at work because of it falling in a holiday week and I'm strapped for cash. The upswing: a roadtrip with Becky. Tracy has to work all day Friday, so Becky and I are driving down together. She doesn't know it yet, but boy have I got plenty to talk about.
I'm not with you on this. I see how it's going to be now that you're the boss
These words could have been uttered by a petulant child and in a way they were. I realized last night, that my Dad and I will never have the relationship I moved back here for us to have. I've been naive these last few years. Telling myself he was still lucid and in control. Last night we argued over clothing. Pajamas and street clothes to be precise. He wants to wear both at night. He wants to wear his street clothes 24 hours a day and put his pj's on over them at night. I thought he was sane up until then. Boy am I a rube.
After about the thirtieth "But why?" from him, I realized that there was no rationalizing it. To tell him that it was more sanitary, easier for him to get in and out of pj's vs. pants and belts, or finally because everyone else is doing it and he should too. I lost patience. Told him he could lay there in his underwear all night if he didn't want to wear pajamas, but he would not be sleeping in his street clothes again. No wonder he smelled of urine last time I visited. I thought it was his Depends and helped him change it, never knowing it was his clothing.
I left to his words stinging in my ears, vowing that I would not let him make me cry. I didn't either. At least I didn't cry because of his words. I made it all the way home and to the serenity of my room first.
What did I cry for? Hope. The hope I moved here with. The hope that we could mend the relationship that went south back in 1982 and never recovered. The fact of the matter is, the man I want to mend a relationship with is no longer here. He is someone else who looks and smells like my Daddy. Sometimes he even laughs and smiles like him, but he is definitely not him anymore. Last night drove that point home. I've just been too oblivious and optimistic for it to register sooner.
And here I thought getting him into the facility was the hardest part of my year. Wrong again duckie! Letting go of the memory of who he once was and all that came with that and realizing this is who he is now. That's the hardest part.
I'm not with you on this. I see how it's going to be now that you're the boss
These words could have been uttered by a petulant child and in a way they were. I realized last night, that my Dad and I will never have the relationship I moved back here for us to have. I've been naive these last few years. Telling myself he was still lucid and in control. Last night we argued over clothing. Pajamas and street clothes to be precise. He wants to wear both at night. He wants to wear his street clothes 24 hours a day and put his pj's on over them at night. I thought he was sane up until then. Boy am I a rube.
After about the thirtieth "But why?" from him, I realized that there was no rationalizing it. To tell him that it was more sanitary, easier for him to get in and out of pj's vs. pants and belts, or finally because everyone else is doing it and he should too. I lost patience. Told him he could lay there in his underwear all night if he didn't want to wear pajamas, but he would not be sleeping in his street clothes again. No wonder he smelled of urine last time I visited. I thought it was his Depends and helped him change it, never knowing it was his clothing.
I left to his words stinging in my ears, vowing that I would not let him make me cry. I didn't either. At least I didn't cry because of his words. I made it all the way home and to the serenity of my room first.
What did I cry for? Hope. The hope I moved here with. The hope that we could mend the relationship that went south back in 1982 and never recovered. The fact of the matter is, the man I want to mend a relationship with is no longer here. He is someone else who looks and smells like my Daddy. Sometimes he even laughs and smiles like him, but he is definitely not him anymore. Last night drove that point home. I've just been too oblivious and optimistic for it to register sooner.
And here I thought getting him into the facility was the hardest part of my year. Wrong again duckie! Letting go of the memory of who he once was and all that came with that and realizing this is who he is now. That's the hardest part.