Realizations

I woke up feeling not so hot today. I felt well enough, I guess. I felt motivated to do laundry. In fact, I even felt motivated enough to have an apple, make oatmeal, and pour a glass of milk. Motivated to clean the kitchen, though? No. Not in the least.

 

I texted my sister around 11am to find out if I could come over and do laundry. The answer came back no, because she was out with Mom. Mom got paid yesterday, apparently, because she and my sister were out getting their manis and pedis. And, predictably, Dad was at home, as usual. Alone.

 

He was home alone for much of the day yesterday too. In fact, from about 10am onward. Mom left the house at 10am and didn't come back until after work - around 12:30am. And Dad sat. At home. Alone.

 

I was getting ready to leave today somewhere around 1pm when Dad called me to tell me that he'd woken up that morning around 8am with brown mucus thrown up on his t-shirt during the night. Dark brown. And, as it turned out later, with the texture of coffee grounds. As we left the house, I kept thinking of the night at the homeless shelter, where I thought I was watching my dad die right in front of me. I wondered if this was the beginning of my dad dying.

 

I took Dad to the urgent care and they recommended that we take him to the emergency room. So Dad and I were off to the ER. He kept asking me if my mom had called. He kept asking me if she knew where we were.

 

As I think about the events that have unfolded today, I realize something. My dad still loves my mom. A lot.

 

Too bad it's not mutual. Although, I suspect that, once my dad dies, my mom will rue the times that she told my dad that she wished he'd just die.

 

We go to the ER and my mom and sister show up there. They're their usual, noisy selves. I am emotionally exhausted. I just sit there, pretty much just quiet. I wish they'd be quiet too. No such luck. The ER doc's eyes rolled when she saw them entering the room. The irritation flashed across her face, but she got it under control toot sweet.

 

Once my mom and sister showed up there, I tried to make my exit as quickly as possible. My dad was comforted by my mom's presence, however antagonistic it was.

 

I went over to my sister's and proceeded to do more laundry. I played the Sims 2 a little bit but I couldn't really get into it. I called my sister to find out the diagnosis, and got a report of probably pneumonia. I met mom, dad, and my sister back at the units' house. I beat them there and saw em pull up. Went up to the car, sister had me help carry dinner into the house. She got out of the car, Mom switched off the engine, then she noticed that her window was still rolled down.

 

Mom cursed. "Fuck!" After she got out of the car, I asked her what was wrong. "Your father just cost me over $100!"

 

"Mom, you can't be mad at someone for being sick."

 

I felt sickened by her goddamned attitude. A cold anger flowed through my mind. I looked over at my dad struggling to get out of the car. Once he finally did, he wavered on his feet. And when he started walking, his head was fuckin' bowed. He walked so slowly, it's not even funny. And she's still bitchin' to high heaven.

 

"Well, it's just lucky that I had the money in the bank!"

 

Mom and my sister walked ahead and Dad told me to go ahead. He was standing on the sidewalk, trying to pull up his pants, which were a little low. I went ahead and then I heard my sister calling for my dad in this panicked voice. "Dad? Dad?!"

 

"Calm down. He's coming. I'll go check on him." I walked back and was amazed to see how little progress he'd made toward getting to the front door. He was walking so slowly and wavering along the way. I went over to him and asked if he needed help.

 

"No, I'm fine."

 

"Come here, Dad." I took his arm and steadied him while he walked into the house.

 

He finally got into his chair and sat down. We all had some pizza and then he tried to get up. He couldn't get out of his chair. My sister had turned into a care-taking robot on PCP. She was expressing how much she was worried about him and shit so much that I finally told her to please shut up. Trust me, it wasn't normal and didn't seem genuine.

 

Yet I wondered...was she rattled by this? Was she finally opening her eyes to the fact that my dad needs more and more help? Or was she just trying to get attention and love by taking care of him? Were her actions truly motivated by a desire to help Dad, or had she found a way to earn adoration?

 

Mom obliviously continued chewing her cud. Dad had to get up and use the facilities, and he couldn't get himself out of his chair. My sister and I helped him and then it was time to talk to Mom. My sister started talking to my mom, giving her detailed instructions on how to take care of Dad. I tuned it out, but I finally had to break in.

 

"Alright, that's enough. She knows how to take care of someone. Mom, Dad has become feeble and weak and you have to take better care of him."

 

"What the hell do you want me to do, quit my job? I can't be here 24 hours a day!"

 

"You know we don't mean that. Stop being melodramatic. You know what you need to do."

 

What the fuck do I have to say to her? He's not a strapping middle aged guy who can care for himself anymore. Yet she's still stewing over his mistakes. This is an altogether different man...a man whose health is declining, who needs comfort from those he loves. Especially his wife -- the person whom he most craves it from; the person who feels less love for him than anyone else.

 

I wish I could do something to make sure my dad is well-cared for. But what can I do? I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can't live my life and do what I have to do AND be responsible for my dad. And my mom's trying to offload that responsibility onto anyone that she can. She's out of that marriage without actually divorcing him. All she has to do is take the car and leave him at home alone all day. And she has no cell phone, so he can't call her.

 

I'm gonna have to call my sponsor tomorrow and check in. I feel like something the cat dragged in. I might watch a movie before bed; I don't know. But I feel so sad inside about all of this...I hate seeing my dad treated this way; despised by the person he most craves affection from. I know that their conflicts are their conflicts, but the time to work them out of not was 10 years ago...not now when my dad's 74 and getting feebler by the day.

 

Now it's just cruelty.