Dad is still alive. It’s been six moths since we chose to stop all his meds. The infamous “they” gave him six months to a year to survive. His body remains as strong as it can be while his mind melts away.
A friend told me today that I shouldn’t live like I’m the one dying. It will be one of those sayings I will turn to when questioning whether I’m living my life showing the world my values. Unfortunately, I have lived my life as if I were dying. And I’ve longed for it. God has given me so many blessings in my life: my kids, my family, my friends and even my ex-husband and father. I have seen that there are people in this world that love me, like me, want me and need me. For them, I am grateful.
Everyone has a story. It has a beginning, middle and end. There are boring parts and suspenseful moments. Some of us share this, and some couldn’t articulate it if they wanted others to know.
I am the youngest daughter of two people that fell in love almost instantly. He would tell me of the moment he saw her on those stairs when he knew he’d be with her forever. I have two older sisters who happened to fall in love with brothers. I have loved few in my life, but they were passionate loves. I have failed many and made the day of more. I have been hurt and hurt others. I am human.
I have been told I haven’t processed the next story I’m going to tell you. It is unsettling. There is no good guy or bad guy, just a bad situation where so many are hurt and lost. Please know that this is a real story told from my point of view. It is from my memories. But to the best of my knowledge this is true.
I have mentioned that the psychological exam showed a strong liklihood for my father’s dementia to be of the Lewy Body variety. It is the difference of what part of the brain is effected and what is causing the nerves to tangle up and die. Lew Bodies is associated with Parkinson’s. It attacks the frontal lobe, which controls our emotions and sexual drive.
My father is not a perfect man, though in my eyes he is closer than many men I’ve met. He was present in my childhood and many of my memories are of him taking time to show me his love.
But the fall of 2008 was a difficult one for my family. David had filed for divorce and I had pulled away from helping my parents. My parents had moved into my sister’s house during the week and living in their home near me on the weekends. Then my mom contracted pneumonia. She was hopsitalized for almost 7 days. David had the kids over the weekend she was a patient. Trying to be as helpful as I could, I volunteered to take dad to their house and give my sister respite. I was hoping to not only have some quality time with him, but also provide him comfort during a very stressful time.
We went fishing for the last time that day. Just him and me. I had to set his line for him, something he always did for me because I hated poking the worms. We sat there together on a perfect morning, the sun shining to our backs. We caught a few, dad needing help to see his bobber move. We went out to eat, though I couldn’t tell you where. He laid down for a nap. We visited mom.
Then we returned to his house. I could tell he was exhausted. I went through the routine we established while he lived with me reciting his pills, though I had to name them now instead of him. I made sure he went to bed and started watching one of my favorite movies, “The Pianist.” He came in at some point and asked if I was sleeping in the living room in a recliner. I wanted to make sure he slept, and so I reasoned if I laid next to him he would rest. Afterall he was used to having his wife lay next to him. When he grabbed me to hold me close to him I felt uncomfortable, but understood he wanted to know he wasn’t alone. I began dozing, but was awoke to my breasts being touched. I took his hand and moved it away, saying his name to bring him back to reality. I turned over. But soon I woke up to being touched again. I tried to redirect him several more times.
I got up and went to sleep in the living room. He came in after a time. He asked if I was mad. I said no. He asked if I was coming back to bed. My counselor told me this is where I truly was in error. I went back to my parents’ room. I didn’t sleep, but rather thought of how if I never ate again I would be unattractive. I concentrated on not throwing up. I guarded the most important parts of my body from being touched. And I prayed for morning.
I don’t know if he remembers doing that. I know I have difficulty with hugging him or even letting him kiss my cheek for more than a peck. I know many will find it hard to believe that I can love him so much despite what he did. But I know it was not my father that touched me. It was that ugly disease that has stripped my family of everything. My new counselor has told me I need to process this and realize it was not my fault. Even with the disease my father was an authority figure that I trusted to protect me. This information just makes me hate the disease more. There is no good guy or bad guy. Just a daughter that worshipped her daddy and a daddy that was losing his mind from a disease he didn’t ask for.
Every day there is a new Jill. Every day I choose to be present. And I hope it’s true the past will quit haunting me.
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