Today, though, something new occurred to me. You see, I've always described Dad's stay in a nursing home as HIS "worst nightmare." Today, I realized, it's also mine.
When I was a pre-teen, I somehow was given the opportunity to volunteer at a nursing home. At first, I was all gung-ho, thinking how sweet it would be to hang out with old people and do good deeds. (I was raised Catholic and doing good deeds was the best way to get into heaven. Bonus!) It was great until the first time I walked in the door. I instantly hated it. Of course, I couldn't run away, but it was awful. I probably went maybe three times and then worked very hard to never go again. The smell, the fluorescent lights, the old people, the overall depressing atmosphere was simply too much. I couldn't take it. Somehow, I feel like God was taking notes and said, at that point, "OK, you get a pass, but eventually, you'll have to go back."
My new routine is to visit Dad virtually every day. This was decided (by me) when Dad became aggressive and combative toward my Mom and sister (including dropping F-bombs.) I told Mom she shouldn't go alone, because Dad seems to think he can order her around. That's too upsetting for her. So I needed to step up and told her that I'd be there every day unless I absolutely couldn't.
Here's where I get honest: I hate it. I hate going. I dread going. I can't wait till each visit is over. It's for the same reasons that I had when I was a pre-teen, but somehow my maturity forces me to shut up and deal, as best as I can. It's not great.
The other day, Mom said something very true and very depressing. We were talking about not putting ourselves through guilt trips if we couldn't stay long when we visited. She said: "I know this is terrible to say, but your Dad might last a long, long time...." She didn't have to finish the sentence. Part of me "stepping up to the plate" and visiting every day was based on the premise that he might not be long for this world. The idea that he could linger for months, maybe years, felt daunting - so daunting that I simply couldn't think about it. I'm not sure I can do this for months or years. But I will, if necessary.
People sometimes tell me I'm a really good daughter. If you've been reading this blog, you know that's not really true. My intentions are suspect and perhaps more wrapped in self-interest than I care to admit. I continue to blog and be honest because it helps me vent and if there is one person out there who is struggling with this same journey, maybe this will make them feel better. Maybe I'm a better blogger than a daughter. Nah, probably not.
In any case, Mom and I will keep fighting the good fight, even if the fight is against our desire to never step foot in that nursing home again. Because honestly, if I could walk away, I would. A shameful confession, if there ever was one.
