Thursday, December 17, 2009
Well, its here, what I always hoped wouldn't happen, and something I'm sure many, many people have had to deal with. When I placed Dad in his facility, I deliberately chose one where he could live out the rest of his life, no matter the course his illness took. But the gods laugh at those who make definite plans, I guess. It looks like we'll definitely have to move him. His territoriality and aggression are getting even worse. The mental health nurse is trying to medicate him to see if that helps, but I have a feeling that the facility is starting to get antsy. They say they deal with these types of behavior all the time, but it seems like they can't handle Dad. So I have to find a new place, a smaller place, one that's not quite so overstimulating. And then I'll continue to think that every phone call is about Dad, with some bad news, or them telling me the facility is closing or something like that. A friend told me that after her seriously ill father died, she was almost relieved because it meant that she didn't have to dread every phone call as being about him. I think I can understand what she's talking about, and I'm sure thousands of people every day deal with the same fears.