Adventures with my Elderly Father

I’ve had some trials and tribulations in my life… but nothing has been as heart wrenching, guilt-ridden, and stressful as the experience I am going through, dealing with the current status of my father.

It didn’t help that he had been one big challenge after another for as long as I could remember. The guilt trips I carried with me because he was unhappy with the way things were, the things he said to me at 5 years old because he was upset that my mom spent time with her sister… the degrading comments he used to make when I invited friends over to my house as teenager….

But now I face one of the most difficult experiences I always anticipated I would face as an only child…. the end-of-life experience of my parent. When my mom died, it was sudden. But when I think back to that experience, I remember the hospital being FLOODED with relatives. My entire extended family occupied the ENTIRE ICU floor. We sat ON the floor because there wasn’t enough seats for everyone to sit on. The support I got was incredible! Not because people approached me and told me they were there for me. But because they all mourned for my mom just as I did, as she was on her death bed. And after she died, we all went home to my mom and dad’s house and slept on the livingroom floors and then planned her funeral together. We all visited funeral home after funeral home together as a family while we were shown a multitude of  caskets like they were used cars.

Now as I continue to experience what is happening with my father, it’s an entirely different experience. My dad wasn’t exactly the happiest man on the planet. And he didn’t exactly maintain close relationships. Every close relationship he had, he found a way to tear it apart. I thought his relationship with me was different and that he would never push me away the way he pushed others away. But I found out a few years ago that I’m no different than any other relationship he had. Once someone crossed his threshold of closeness, he had a pattern of pushing them away.

I’ve been SO INCOMPLETE with the events leading up to where my father is today. Today my father lies in a hospital bed with a feeding tube in his stomach. He is barely coherent. He occasionally opens his eyes. Then closes them unable to acknowledge what’s happening around him.

The last time I spoke to him was on December 27th. He was in the hospital and they had a feeding tube up his nose. I guess that type of tube was meant to be temporary until he could swallow enough to eat on his own. When I spoke to him, he responded in his very hard-to-understand mumbles. Yet, he seemed to understand my communication. The physical therapists came in and he was strong enough to get up and fight them away. He wanted to walk and be independent. That was then.

Now, he lies still in bed barely opening his eyes. I went to visit him today with my husband and son. He opened his eyes and stared at me. He gave me an uncomfortable yet neutral gaze, almost as if to say, everything is ok. I’m not angry. I’m ok where I am. Then he closed his eyes. My husband held our 4 year old son in his arms over my father’s bed and told him (our son): “Say hi to grandpa!” Our son smiled and kind of giggled. And my father looked at him and just stared. He stared for a long time. I almost got the feeling that he was saying to our son: ” I accept you. You are the future.”

The events leading to this day have been difficult. From the days he lived alone in his house and got angry with me randomly when I would visit, to month long hospital stay when he first was picked up by paramedics wandering his neighborhood aloof and lost, to the move to the dementia unit in the assisted living facility, to the many hospital visits because he fell or the caregivers saw something abnormal in him… it was all hard to handle.

My father was last admitted into the hospital when he fell yet again. I don’t even know how it happened. The assisted living facility said he was sitting on the chair and then he fell, head first. The hospital then  called to tell me he was bleeding in his brain. Then they told me the bleeding stopped. And now he is where he is.

I keep getting calls from hospital people asking if I wanted the DNR (Do not resuscitate) protocol on him. I keep saying no. I have it that when he is ready to die, he will die. I remember when he told me the same thing about my mom when she was lying on her death bed. The doctors kept asking us if we wanted the plug to be pulled because she was deemed as a vegetable now. Brain dead yet the heart was still pumping. And my dad said “Don’t tell them to pull the plug. Let the Lord decide to take her home when he’s ready.”  I think of that conversation and I tell the doctors the same thing. Don’t pull the plug on my dad. Let him die when HE IS READY. Not when I am ready.

The today, I go to the hospital to visit after a week of staying away, and I see this $200,000 bill on the side table. I swear. The medical industry has NO HEART.

Anyway, what is so right now is my father is in the hospital. He has a feeding tube in his stomach and he is not improving. Yet he’s not getting worse either. No one knows if he’s coming or going. My greatest support system has been my husband who doesn’t quite feel the intensity of emotion that I feel, yet he gets that the feeling SUCKS, and a few of my closest friends. My dad’s sister is also supportive, yet I could tell she’s already disconnected. She visited when he first got in the hospital and I think she got complete with him then. Because now when I call her, there is something different about her communication. She is still compassionate and caring and I also sense a detachment. She already said her goodbyes. And her strong Christian faith has her continue to stay complete with her brother.

I continue to live my life. I go to work, I make plans and each action I take towards just having a life doesn’t go without guilt, shame and confusion for what I’m doing. I am choosing to get on with my life. I know on some level that the universe (or some people call it GOD) is taking care of my dad. I WANT HIM TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. And I continue to struggle with and seek completion with it not being ME who takes care of him.

Today when he gazed at me for approximately 20 seconds, I got a sense of completion. I knew he wasn’t going to speak. Yet with his eyes, he spoke completion.

So the morning after that very successful evening of moving my dad into that fabulous assisted living place, I get a phone call.

“Hi, your dad fell in his room and we sent him to the hospital.”

WTF. I was floored. Could this be happening? The world around me stood still. I waited to see if I would actually wake up from a horrible nightmare or a ridiculous joke that the universe was playing on me. And I didn’t wake up. This was REAL.

So what happened was, my dad had a good morning. He ate breakfast and then he went back to his room. The nurse gave him his medications, and then BOOM. He fell face forward. He was in his room alone. Other residents heard his cry for help, and the staff members went in his room and found him on the floor. He was coherent and talking. He stood up and there was blood all over his nose and (according to Eve) all over the bathroom door, as well. He said he didn’t know what happened. Protocol at The Pass Through The Hills Facility is to call 911 whenever a fall happens, no matter how menial it is. And so they rushed him to the hospital.

He’s now at this different hospital in Orange County. The hospital then calls me to inform me that his Medi-Cal had expired.

WTF. I was floored yet again. What do you mean EXPIRED? Is this real? I felt the tension rise from the pit of my stomach, up my spine, into my shoulders and then into my head. I wanted to scream.

After a few moments of gathering myself (at work), I took a deep breath and reminded myself that they will not kick him out into the street, insurance or not. He’s safe. I am taken care of, I thought as a statement of wishful thinking.

Then after much pondering and inquiries, I realized that I had missed doing his Medi-Cal re-evaluation thing that is required every few years. That voice inside my head that thinks I’m a bad daughter immediately came back to visit my head at that moment.

So then I was having conversations with this new hospital. I also called the attorney I used to get my dad Medi-Cal in the first place. They were closed for the long weekend. The social worker of this new hospital was trying to figure out what to do with my dad. After multiple tests, the doctors had claimed that my dad was ok to go back to The Pass Through The Hills. And then the facility decided that they didn’t want to accept him back until they did an evaluation on him.

WTF. I was floored yet again again!  HE HAS TO BE ACCEPTED BACK?!!!!! He just effing moved the eff IN the other day and now he has to be accepted back?!

I actually totally got the reasons why they wanted to re-evaluate him. But I was mad at the universe for continuing to test me.

Finally, the facility decided to accept him back and out of the kindness of their hearts, provide a caregiver to be with him 8 hours a day. I had explained to them previously that I couldn’t manage paying for the rent for the facility + an 8-hour a day caregiver. And they thought my dad needed extra support as he gained his own strength back.

The hospital also provided my dad with an ambulance ride back to the facility as a charity gift. They also provided a home-health physical therapist to come to the facility to help him gain his physical strength back.

I am FLOORED by the generosity of this hospital, and of this facility. None of this would have happened if I didn’t take on the responsibility of being ineffective in completing all of my dad’s affairs… from renewing Medi-Cal to seeing the signs that he was likely to fall.

The universe tested me. And I passed the test.

So, just last week, my father was still in the hospital and the social worker and I were looking for a nursing home or board and care facility for him to go.

I visited about 5 or 6 different facilities all over LA and also talked to countless of other facilities by phone. The breakdown was that none of them had any Medi-Cal beds available. Board & care places were available but none of them accepted any types of insurance. They required cash, just like renting an apartment. And so I figured that if he lives in an assisted living place, he would no longer need an 8-hour per day caregiver. That said, I figured that the funds spent on a caregiver can be used for a board and care place instead.

Finally, I came across The Pass Through The Hills Assisted Living Facility. They were located the farthest from home that I had ever checked out before.  The hospital’s agency found this place.  It was EXACTLY the same amount per month that I was paying for an 8-hour per day caregiver. The lady who gave me the tour of the place was the sweetest, friendliest person I had ever met at any of the facilities I had ever visited. I immediately thought: “I trust her with my dad.”

Long story short, he was accepted into the facility, and on August 31st, he FINALLY got discharged from the hospital. I had made arrangements for me, my husband, my son, and my dad’s caregiver to pick him up from the hospital and drive him to The Pass Through The Hills Facility.  We were welcomed with open arms, and the move went very smoothly. I can’t say enough about the staff’s friendliness. And even more so, the other residents in the Memory Care unit. They were HILARIOUS, to say the least.

My dad’s roommate had a heart to heart conversation with my dad’s dog. He told his dog that he heard her speak tagalog. And that any dog who can speak tagalog deserves respect.

Another man who lived there asked me with great concern if I was dead. I said, “No I’m alive”. He then said “Oh good, because if you were dead, I would have asked you to leave. I don’t like dead people hanging around me.”

And this other lady kept saying to me literally every 3 minutes: “He’s so cute, what’s his name?” about my son. I would repeat my answer over and over to her each time, as if it was her first time asking. And then I got thrown off when she then asked me: “What is my name?” (meaning, what is HER name). Immediately, I thought she forgot her name! After all, we ARE in the dementia/alzeimer’s unit. So I called a staff member down the hall and asked her what that lady’s name was. Before she could answer, the lady interrupted and said: “Why are you asking her my name? I know my name! It’s Mary!” Then she stuck her hand out for me to shake it.

Needless to say, I was amused and confused. But all of those conversations sure lightened the load.

Eve had unpacked all of my dad’s clothes, and beddings and made his bed. Soon after, she wheeled my dad in his wheelchair (they gave him a wheelchair because he was so frail walking since he had been in bed for a month in the hospital) to his room for the first time, and his reaction was priceless:

“This is my room?” he questioned, “wow, it’s beautiful!”

SCORE. Finally, the demon in me who keeps thinking I’m failing my dad, finally got recognition and acknowledgement.

So, Eve, my husband, my son and I all left lighthearted and content. My dad was happy. We were all feeling accomplished. It was a successful night. To add to that, this was also a breakthrough for me regarding support. The fact that my husband busted his ass that evening to make sure my dad was taken care of, was HUGE. Recalling all the name calling, and ill feelings that my father had of him just a few years ago, this evening was not supposed to have happened. And it did.

Miracles do happen.

 

 

Every time I got a call from the hospital, the social workers, Medi-cal, the caregivers, the doctors, and the nurses regarding my father, my blood pressure went up, my shoulders would tense up and I would crave an alcoholic drink.

One day, I questioned why this was so? And I finally got it. Each time someone asked me to make a decision about my father, through my filters of insecurities and inadequacy, I always heard the following:

“You fucked up. You’re a bad daughter. You shouldn’t have moved him the U.S. What were you thinking? How could you abandon him? How could you fail him? He gave you birth! You owe your entire life to him! You are obligated to sacrifice yourself to him! You deserve to be miserable on his behalf! You failed at making him happy!”

And I finally got complete with that today.

My husband got me present to the life that my father had after he moved to California. His life in Toronto was doomed for failure. He lived in a townhouse in the Toronto suburb of Etobicoke, which has seriously steep stairs. He had roommates that all disliked him. (No surprises there!) His house was a disgusting infested mess. It got cold in the winter. The streets were icy and snowy in the winter. And hardly anyone helped him with groceries, with going to the doctor, or with anything else.

In California, he lived in this beautiful small bungalow with a beautiful backyard and a gardener (that I arranged) to trim his garden and make sure it was watered and maintained. The weather rarely changed. And I busted my ass making sure that he was taken care of. This was something I could not have done if he lived 3000 miles away in Toronto. My dad lived a really good extra 6 years independently, and with caregivers that managed his well being and basically catered to his every request and every need.  He never worried about it being too cold or too slippery to walk outside, he never wondered who would take him to the doctor, and he never worried about being alone, or cooking his own food, or taking his medications. Mind you, he actually did still worry, but everything was taken care of.

What I really got today on a whole new level is that I REALLY AM an amazing daughter. And the only thing I failed at was to give myself the acknowledgement for being that amazing, committed daughter to him. Now that I truly see that, I can stop getting triggered by every phone call that someone makes to me regarding my father.

I own the way things are right now. I also own the way things are not. There are a shit load of things still incomplete regarding my father. I owe the caregiver agency money. I need to get my dad’s taxes done. I need to rent out his house. I need to get his Medi-cal reinstated (another breakdown which I won’t even go into).  I need to get him a primary care doctor (after I get his Medi-Cal reinstated!). So much to do. It’s overwhelming. And a man can walk a thousand steps by going just one step at a time. And this is what I am doing.

 

 

The next month and a half, from the time my father went into the hospital, to now, would be a rollercoaster ride for me. The situation was this:  His diabetes was managed, and his pnemonia was gone. He was physically weak from lying in bed all day, and every other day, he would be in an extremely bad mood that he would snub the nurses and the caregiver, the doctor and the physical therapist and lay in bed all day. He ate puréed food because his swallowing was weak, and he often got angry that no one would give him bread, which was his favorite thing to munch on when he was hungry. And Eve came to the hospital everyday to keep him company and help out however she could.

The doctor recommended that he shouldn’t be home alone, ever. My dad’s finances can only cover a caregiver for 8 hours per day for 5 days. Not 24/7. So the hospital social worker started looking for a skilled nursing facility for him that accepted Medi-cal. After about a week, the social worker told me that they couldn’t find a place for my dad that accepted Medi-cal and told me they would discharge him and he will just have to go home alone. After much inner-panic and a bunch of research on my rights,  I learned that a patient cannot be discharged if they don’t have a safe place to go. So I refused the discharge, and so he stayed at the hospital for another month, while they resumed their search to find for a place for him to go.

During that time, I was on the phone with the hospital almost every day, livid that they would continue to threaten his discharge because they couldn’t find him a place to go and they wanted their bed back.  I spent the next week taking time off from work to visit nursing homes all over Southern California to no avail.

The social worker continued to tell me that they were going to discharge him AND that the bill for his hospital stay was going to be sent to me. And one day, I finally had it, and requested that she stop the threats.  First, a hospital cannot discharge a patient if they don’t have a safe place to go, and secondly, once a hospital accepts a Medi-cal patient, the hospital cannot bill the patient or the patient’s family.  The “threats” stopped and they continued their search.

My dad since had about 4 blood transfusions after the doctor discovered that he had low hemoglobin. They then discovered an ulcer in his intestine and thought they might have to perform surgery. This posed a HUGE risk to his life, and his sister flew down to visit him thinking that this might be the time, as my dad would have put it, that he “goes home to the Lord”.

The stress over all the uncertainty, and of course my own insecurities over whether I was being a good enough daughter, coupled with the resentment of being an only child who got the short end of the stick by having a father who had extreme moods and didn’t know how to manage it,  etc. was so damn extreme that I honestly didn’t know what would be worse… Losing my dad to this ulcer or having him get better from it and continuing the rollercoaster of everyone’s sad attempts to making him happy.

And then he recovered.  The bleeding stopped. The  blood transfusions stopped, and his ulcer was healed.

And then the battle to keep him in the hospital continued…  And the search to find him a proper nursing home also continued.

A few years lapsed since my last post, and I had found myself in the same place with my father. The only difference is that the players around him are different.

Since his accident 2 years ago, I had become the power of attorney for his finances and started managing all the logistics of his life. I also got him approved for Medi-cal, which is the state-run insurance for low income residents,  and set him up with a caregiver to come to his house for 8 yours a day, 5 days a week. On weekends, I would go to his house in the mornings to prepare his meals and give him his medications.

Occasionally, I would take him out to lunch, and sometimes dinner. But then something started happening. Slowly but surely, I noticed that he seemed more and more distant. He spoke less to me unless it was to yell at me (literally) about a bill he received. Other times, he would receive a bank statement and question where all his money was. If it was a bad day, he would accuse me of stealing all his money.  He also claimed that his caregiver wanted his property. He used to also hide food in his bedroom because he claimed that his caregiver was stealing his food. This actually got so bad that an infestation of every bug alive showed up crawling through every crack in his house. Needless to say, my husband arranged for an exterminator to come out several times before the infestation was finally gone. I also arranged for a house cleaner to come out every few weeks to maintain the level of cleanliness it took to keep the bugs out. I can go on with an endless list of things of services that was required to keep this man’s house clean.

So Fred was his caregiver. He was a gentle, mid-aged Filipino man who was very jolly. He also had A LOT of patience for my dad. But during his first week taking care of my dad, he said he wanted to quit because he got seriously depressed.  My dad has a unique way of having people feel that way around him. Over time, Fred learned to adjust to my dad and block out the nasty words and comments that would so easily fly out of my dad’s mouth towards Fred.

I had asked Fred to start hiding his mail if he could get to the mail before my dad did. Every time my dad would open up a bill, he would go ballistic and blame anyone he could think of, for stealing his money. So Fred and I had a system where he would take my dad’s mail home and send it to my house so my dad would never see it. This helped keep my dad’s irrational emotional status at bay. Fred stayed with my dad for well over a year. He was amazing to my father given the conditions he worked in with my dad.

Then came Eve. Eve is AMAZING as well. And she brought a gentle feminine energy into my father’s space. My father has his moments where he would love Fred and then hate Fred. But with Eve, he immediately embraced her. Of course things were no different with her either — he would have his moments where he would yell at her and throw nasty comments at her. And Eve would take it all in, nod her head and tell him in her own way that she was listening to him.

She said she never allowed him  to upset her. Instead she played the part that he was describing to her in his anger. One time he claimed that he was the king. And Eve, who so generously danced in the conversation with him, said “Yes you are sir, you are the King! And I am here to serve you my King”.  And my dad would immediately calm down.

Eve, as the last caregiver also did, managed my dad’s medications and his doctor appointments. She also managed his groceries and all other areas of his day to day living, and she also hid his mail and gave it to me when she saw me. Eve had been with my dad for 8 months.

Then the inevitable happened.

One typical Saturday almost 2 months ago, I drove to my dad’s place early in the morning to make him breakfast and administer his medications. He was upset. Every time I would go there, I knew he would either be happy or upset. And that morning, he was upset. I knew something was slightly off about him but given that his moods fluctuated so much, I didn’t give it much concern. I did what I typically did which was make him oatmeal for breakfast, and then prepare his lunch and dinner for later. Then I gave him his medications and told him to eat his oatmeal. He got angry with me about something. It had become very difficult for him to communicate. His words were always very few, but his anger was always very plenty. So I didn’t know why he was angry that morning, nor did I care.  I also had my son and my husband at home waiting for me, and so without giving it more energy, I told my dad I was leaving. As always, he said nothing to me and walked away. So I left his house.

That afternoon, I get a call from the police department: “Hi, we have your father’s dog. Where can we drop it off?”  My immediate reaction was: Not again. It’s one of those calls. I then learn that my father was walking his dog that afternoon when he got confused about 3 blocks from his house. Passers by stopped to help him and immediately saw his need for medical help so they called 911. A fire truck came, saw that my dad was confused and brought him to the hospital to get checked out. The cops came as well, and were left with his little 10 lb. terrier dog.

So here I am on the phone with the cops saying “I don’t know what to do with his dog”.  I asked them to drop the dog off at the vet, but they said they couldn’t leave their county. They requested to leave the dog in my dad’s backyard, and I declined that request because there are holes in the yard, and she is very small and will likely escape. And my dad loves that dog and for as much stress as I had endured over my father, I still respected what he loves and cares for. So the cops asked for my permission to break into his house to put the dog back in, and I said YES PLEASE. DO  THAT because I was NOT going to drive all the way to the police station to get that damned dog.  About an hour later, the cop called me back and said he hopped the fence and found the back door unlocked. So he put her in the house. He also added that they left the leash on her because she started to bite the cop as he was entering the house. “Nice,” I thought to myself. That dog is just like my dad.

So now my dad is in the hospital.  We later learn that my dad had a new diagnosis of diabetes, and pnemonia. So they treated both ailments. And now he is on long term insulin. And the pnemonia went away after weeks of medications.

I felt relieved that he was safe and that I didn’t have to take care of him because the hospital was going to. That evening, I asked Eve to keep him company at the hospital when she came back to work on Monday, instead of at his house. Little did I know that this day would mark the first day of a series of events that would lead me to question my sanity many times.

 

 

 

It’s been a few years since I’ve written. In a nutshell, my dad moved to Los Angeles 4 years ago, my husband and I lived with him for only a few months before it became unbearable for all of us, and this resulted in us moving out at my father’s request (or rather, demand), and finding a place of our own. The silver lining is that I got my life back, and my father found a new sense of freedom.

About a year later, my father decided that he didn’t like his senior condo anymore and wanted a house. So walking home from church one day, he stopped at an open house, met a VERY lovely realtor who agreed to help him find the perfect house. My dad has REALLY GOOD TASTE in finding the right help. Because this realtor started to see where my father’s weaknesses were, and really bent over backwards to make sure he was taken care of through this entire house buying process. Make a long story short, my father sold his condo and bought a cute 2-bedroom house with a gorgeous backyard.

Things seemed routine-like for the months to come… I’ve often lost my patience with him when I’d visit him, bring him groceries, help him pay his bills or do several other errands for him, only to be met with: “You are nothing, what kind of daughter are you?… etc.” Other times when I would visit, he would tell me that he loves me. So it’s pretty much been hit or miss with his moods.

Then the inevitable happened. He was coming home late at night one evening (I still wonder why he was out so late), and he tripped over the curb, fell on his face and was rushed to the ER. I got that dreaded phone call at 11:30pm. He received a few stitches on his mouth, and through an MRI, it was discovered that his fall caused an acute bleeding in his brain. He ended up in the hospital for about one week, and then was transferred to a rehab center, and eventually was sent home with the instructions that he needed home care.

Which brings us to the present day…. I have a caregiver coming to his house 8 hours per day. He’s managed to dislike the caregiver. That’s about right since he’s managed to dislike every single living soul that’s ever cared for him in my lifetime, including me and my husband.

And what I’m faced with currently is figuring out how to get him financial help for his medical care without anyone going after his assets, while constantly being told by him that I’m a bad daughter. Occasionally, I’ll be told that I’m a good daughter. And whereas I thought the last few years of dealing with him was bad enough, having to now face the responsibility of protecting him and his assets in the light of being constantly told that I’m a bad daughter, AND still trying to maintain some sort of LIFE outside of doing all of this, has been quite the challenge. I’m looking for the silver lining in all of this, and haven’t quite discovered it yet.

Its been almost 2 weeks since we’ve moved out. I am so grateful for the opportunity to live alone with my husband again, and not have to cater to the demands of my capable father who I am realizing has been “pretending” to be weaker than he was, in order to get the attention we so willingly gave for almost a year since he moved down here.

From a mystical perspective,  I am grateful to him for creating the perfect scenario that allowed me to accept the idea of moving out in the first place. I think back to the chain of events that lead to our move and often wonder if I would have agreed to move out if he sat me down and had a heart-to-heart talk on his desires to live alone.  Nonetheless, I am happy that things are the way they are now. And I am seeing the shift as a result of us all getting what we want.  I have my life back with my husband now, and my father has the freedom to do as he pleases without having to look deep enough within to recognize his power struggles with my husband and his insecurities around not having me to himself.

Last night, I visited him and as soon as he opened the door and saw me, he reached out to hug me. This took me by surprise as he rarely showed me any affection while we were living together. His grip on me was firm – I knew he was missing me and that he was grateful that I visited. This is a huge shift since just last week, he complained that I had no time for him, instead of seeing that I DID make time for him by visiting.

I am done having any kind of expectations from my father. At least this is how I feel in the current moment. And I am putting out the intent and energy that he will have no expectations on me.

I have also been very aware of my thoughts and feelings towards him. I was away on a business trip and out of the blue, felt this panic that I had not spoken to my father in a while. Right away, on instinct (as I would always do before), I grabbed my phone with the intent to call him, and then realized that my co-dependency kicked in and was the one dialing his number. Immediately, I put the phone down and did not call him. I will not revert back to my old patterns of seeking approval for him in order to feel worthy. I am conscious of visiting and/or calling him only when I feel like talking to him – not when I feel like my worthiness is at stake.

I am sitting on the floor writing this as my father stands over me, yelling at me, demanding me: “get out of my life”, claiming that my husband is a “fag” and that he retaliated him because he is evil. Surprisingly, I am not as triggered as I expected to be.

It all started when I told him that we were going to move on Sunday instead of Saturday due to logistics with the cleaning lady at our other house. Well, this threw my father for a loop. He intended on going to church that day and I guess he was scared that my husband would come to the condo while he was away, and of course, this infuriated him. Well shit hit the fan after that – he went off on me, saying I was a bad daughter, etc. etc. Oh, he also said “You are stupid!” several times. It actually made me curious as to whether or not he’s said this when I was growing up. That surely would’ve scarred me, and now I am seeing more and more everyday, where my lack of confidence and insecurities have come from.

I really don’t know if he has dementia, although friends who are familiar with the disease tell me that he shows clear signs of it. And if that is true, then it is my bad that I changed the plans on him in the first place. Dementia patients do not like change I am told. For weeks, I told him we were moving on Saturday only to change it to Sunday at the last minute.

Well turns out, we changed the plans back due to the severely irrational reaction by my father. We are moving today instead – Saturday.

This morning, I went to his room to tell him we were moving on Saturday instead. One thing led to another, and he said once again that he wants me “… out of my life!”  And to verify what he meant, I said: “Forever? You never want to see me again?” to which he responded: “No!” To which I said: “Oh, so in other words, I’m as good as dead?” And he said: “Yes!”  At this point, I ran to get my iPhone to video tape him as this was a pretty intense command that he is insisting upon – he wants to NEVER see me again. Part of me was a little panicked, but so many other parts of me are so completely detached that it didn’t phase me.

I guess the one thing that kills me is that I put my complete trust and devotion into him.  I had no idea that he would get this bad with me. But I realize now that no matter who is living with him, he will try to make them responsible for his misery and his happiness. I guess it doesn’t matter if that person is his daughter or just some stranger he met off the street. I guess I feel betrayed for all that I have done for him. I actually feel used. My husband and I busted our asses off to move him down here, sell his house, and take care of him, and on top of that, I petitioned to get him his green card. Now he is telling me to get out of his life. Maybe I should look into legal reprecautions around this since the sponsor of the green card holder is deemed responsible for them for 10 years.

He told me to leave his room at this point, and as I walked back to my room to get on the laptop, he followed me, dancing around, teeth clenched, laughing an evil Dracula laugh and singing: “Work work work work, you are a worker to the fag….”

I tried to video tape it. It was actually quite hilarious, although I know that describing it won’t even do it justice. But my iPhone ran out of space.

Anyway, I am going to get some coffee.