I’m trying to stay on top of things. My dad went to see a very good doctor at the end of last month. Their plan is to test for/treat the least invasive/most easily fixable things first. “Because,” my father so serenely says, “if it’s metastatic melanoma, I’m dead in the water, and if they go straight for the Alzheimer’s tests, nobody’ll bother to look for anything else. Plus, if they think you have Alzheimer’s, I hear they yoink your driver’s license.”
I’m cleaning all the time now, something I used to never do. I left home at 14-years-old, thus bypassing most of my chore learning years. Household maintenance is somewhat of a mystery to me. Despite my lackluster skill set, it’s suddenly become important to dust the tops of the picture frames, and catch all the spider’s webs in the room corners. And vacuum! I’m doing more vacuuming than I might have done my whole marriage before six months ago. When things are out of place, I feel compelled to get up and put them back where they belong. And so it seems I’m always moving these days. Albeit, in a big circle.
All the while, my mind is off in some weird, thoughtless, easily confused place. Misunderstood lyrics of the week: Turns out, Bruno Mars is not singing, “Is it that look in your eyes, or is it these dancing Jews?” Who cares, baby? He thinks he wants to marry you. Also, the radio edit in these parts makes Adele’s Rolling in the Deep sound suspiciously like, “go ahead and sell me out, and I’ll leave your fish bare.” This puzzles me a lot longer than it should. So long, in fact, that I consider changing cleaning agents, as I must be stoned on their fumes or something.
My dad is almost Flowers for Algernon-style cheerful about the whole thing. He came over today and announced he and Mom were studying up on whether/when he’d need a conservatorship. He was full of interesting tidbits on the legalities. Guess he’s always loved a project. It’s hard to tell him to shut up, I don’t want to deal with this right now, when he’s so damn cheerful and wanting to share what he’s learned. “Is it getting better – the symptoms?” I ask. He thinks about it. Nods slightly. Talks about something else.
When we run out of things to talk about, he excuses himself to go call my mom. He murmurs the number to himself as he presses buttons. Except the number he dials is a marriage of the cell phone number my mom’s had since I was 16 and their home phone.
I cringe, wondering if I should tell him what he’s done, or pretend I didn’t notice. He gets that recording: The number you’ve reached is not in service. Dad holds the phone to his ear, and since he’s deaf as a post, I can hear the recording blare across the room, but he listens to it like doesn’t know right away what’s happened. Or maybe it’s just that he is deaf as a post and can’t hear the message. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to see he’s embarrassed. He folds the phone closed with great solemnity. Opens it up. Dials again. This time, it’s right.
Shit. Crying. Gotta go. PS: My house looks fantastic, bitches.
You have just written about one of my deepest, darkest fears.
If you want to email me I’ll send you my phone number in case you ever want to talk.
Oh.
Thinking of you. Hugs.
Thanks so much for the lil update on your dad, I (and others, I’m sure) wonder how it’s going for you, surprisingly often. Guess those loose ends just tend to flap around, waiting for a place to land or latch. Anyway, yay for cleaning! Happens to be one of my least practiced and yet most satisfying methods of coping in the face of what-to-do-when-I-can’t-fix-life.
Sending a hug for all time plus a toxic-free cleansing agent and a fresh stack of rags …
((HUGS)) I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I hope it’s something easily fixed.
Much love to you. I’m here if you want to talk or text or email or just sit and cry on the other end of the phone. I’m here.
Man, I’m so so sorry. This is the worst, this parents-getting-old thing. It makes me want to file a complaint with upper management.
I can feel your heartbreak through my screen. Virtual hugs and squeezes from me to you.
Crying with you. Hugs!
There really are no words to give you that will make anything better. I am so NOT magic. I am glad you have a forum to write about your experience when you want. We all read you because we want to know what is going on with you. You express it so well.
I can totally empathize with you and your experience of the weirdness of a parent being ill. I just finished a very long, winding journey with my Mom over the last few years. It was such a mix of horribleness, mundane-ity and wicked, wicked humor that it is really hard to describe other than those, or similar, words.
All I can say (based on my own experience, your mileage may vary) is that things that seem bad at the beginning end up seeming like just a normal part of the landscape. Each twist and turn is nerve wracking and then the new normal. And the new normal is never how I expect it to be.
All I could do was try to hold it together so that I could be there for my Mom in whatever way she needed/wanted and that was a special gift I gave us. I had really thought I was giving it to her (because I wish I was a bit of a selfless saint), but again, it wasn’t what I expected. I think I benefited the most from my gift. And since I am the one left behind, that really seems fitting. And yet….
Enjoy your time with him and your Mom. Smile about the silly stuff when you can. Cry when you want to. Clean your house til it sparkles! Whatever you need to do. 🙂
so sorry for your pain – hope the cleaning helps I know I get super busy when crazy shit happens. If it counts for anything I have missed checking in with you and hope you can spend as much time with your family and folks as you can good luck thinking of you
Just tried to write a funny-light-hearted comment to make you smile. Crap. Just came out inane. Heart is breaking for you, thinking about you, praying.
I do the same thing – cleaning when my life is entirely messed up. As if tidy in one area can spread to another area, but it uses up nervous energy, if nothing else.
Peace.
Jenny
So, so sorry. I totally get the nonstop cleaning thing — it’s my way of controlling what I can when everything else is spinning out of control, I think. Big hugs to you… you are so in my thoughts.
Oh sweetheart. So sorry.
I stopped using the self-checkout line at the grocery store if I have to tell the machine what it is weighing. Because I lose words like “banana” and it is terribly embarrassing to ask someone what the fruit is…so my assvice is to pretend he didn’t make that mistake unless he asks for help. I’m so sorry. Losing a parent is so hard, especially when the what/why/how long is still unknown.
We have watched a great man fade away in the past 5 years. Alex’s Grandfather designed and built his own tractor and other equipment, studied animal husbandry and farming, worked at General Dynamics as a supervisor/foreman, raised 6 children, watched his wife die after her 2nd bout of breast cancer and he asked where she was recently…
God bless him. It’s a hard pill to swallow.
Hugs, sweetheart. Thinking of you and your family. <3
I’m so sorry. Hugs to you.
Oh man. Anne. I wish I could send you one of my mail-order casseroles right now. 🙁
There are no good words for this. Just know you are thought of and those of us who have witnessed it (my MIL) know it sucks.
*hug*