Monday, August 3, 2009

Making a decision.

The idea had occurred to me all at once, springing into my head almost fully formed. I was spending a lot of my spare time and energy helping Dad, and I was finding it hard to combine that effort with the demands and stresses of my current job. I was spending one day a week at Dad’s house paying bills, doing clerical work, and sometimes going out to lunch with him and his care-giver. What with the hour long drive there and back, and the exhaustion after being at the house, I was giving up my whole day, even though I was only there a few hours. I was pushing my limits. If I were to move back in with Dad, taking the place of the aide currently there twice a week, the benefits could be huge...
After weeks of talking it over with my friends, my therapist, and pretty much anyone else who would listen, I knew what I had to do even though I was still petrified at the thought of what I was taking on. The money was great, the chance to have more time was enticing, but it always came down to not wanting to miss anything. However, the relationship between my father and I had always been backwards. I had always been the one running after him, struggling to establish and maintain a connection. I had felt trapped in the role of caretaker. Now I was choosing the role of my own free will. If I was going to do it, I needed to be absolutely clear about what was happening. I was choosing the money, the best way Dad had of caring for me. And I yearned to see if I could make one last connection in the time he had left. If Dad had one lucid moment, I wanted to share it with him. I wanted to see everything that was happening to him. In the end, I really had no choice.

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