Daddy's cynical, impatient girl

If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know that a lot of my posts have been about my Dad. I guess I'd attribute this to the fact that my father has always been a huge figure in my life. Prior to this year, I adored my Dad without hesitation. Sure, he had a few annoying habits, but that was nothing compared to how awesome he was, right?

Fast-forward to this spring when my parents moved in with us. All of a sudden, I was completely blindsided and gobsmacked by the combination of a very human/flawed person and an elderly man desperately trying to retain his dignity while, little by little, it was being stripped away. I saw the ugliness of his daily habits. I often forgot about the dementia diagnosis and lashed out when he wouldn't bend to our demands.

Basically, I saw my Dad for who he really was, AFTER being filtered through the prism of decline, decay, dementia and general inertia. The man is aging and yet my stubbornness refuses to let go of the guy that I used to know - the funny, articulate, witty, interesting and engaged individual who taught me work ethic like nobody else. How is it possible that this same person won't even get up out of his chair or worse, won't change the channel on the TV?

My Dad isn't the same person I used to know. Then again, who among us goes unchanged through life?

I inherited a lot from my Dad for which I'm thankful, except for two traits that I wish I could give back - impatience and cynicism. Neither of them are serving me well in my new role of elder careperson. They are also not serving Dad very well at this, unfortunately, sad time of his life.

For me, impatience causes me to wish my parents could walk more quickly, remember things more readily or react to virtually anything with the speed of my peers. It has just occurred to me that I seem unwilling to meet them where they are. Remember months ago, when I wrote this second post about how this all seemingly started with a prayer for patience? I find, more often than not, I haven't really done very well in that department. No doubt another lesson is waiting for me down the road.

Then there's the cynicism that I learned from my Dad. When he and I go on excursions to one of his medical appointments, I have a hard time getting him to talk. My fallback is always to ask his opinion about people or things in the news. More often than not, his answers are short on length and optimism. As prone as I am to being a "Judgy McJudgson," I too find myself expecting the negative or making judgments about people about whom I know so little. Who am I to judge?

I don't have a resolution for any of this. My current relationship with my Dad is tenuous, at best. I'd like to say that I've changed, but I probably haven't. I constantly have to remind myself of how far he's fallen and how difficult that must be for him. My hope is that I can get into the habit of remembering to be patient and non-judgmental, something that does not come easily at all.

Perhaps I'd do well to remember the wise words of Aibileen: