Fresh Threshold Crossed

This is an interesting day. My dad has forgotten how to make breakfast, and he has also forgotten what he usually eats.

For years, he has been getting up and making himself scrambled fake eggs, turkey “bacon,” and toast. He has a special stainless skillet. He can’t use Teflon because if he burns it accidentally, the fumes can kill my pets. He has been handling his own breakfast needs one way or another ever since I was a kid, and now, at least for today, he can’t do it. Maybe tomorrow he’ll remember again.

I have to adjust. Cooking real food for him would be time-consuming, and I have other things I have to deal with in the mornings. For example, I now have to go in the bathroom while he showers and prevent certain problems from arising. I am also wiping kitchen surfaces with a weak bleach solution and bringing him the clothes he is supposed to wear every day. If I simply hang clothes in his closet, he will wear them multiple times without putting them in the laundry.

I’m going to get some sort of prepared frozen stuff we can throw in the microwave. It will do for now. Maybe I can come up with something better later.

Another problem with cooking for him is that he would expect me to eat with him, and that’s something I want to limit. His manners have never been great, and things have gotten worse. It may seem like a little thing to a person who has never looked after a demented person, but looking at chewed food and enduring other unmentionable issues during meals takes a toll on you if you do it every day.

I can imagine indignant people telling me I need to get up at 5 a.m. and make him fresh, healthy, delicious food every day. Here’s the thing: his diet is not going to be great from now on, and I’m okay with it. His diet has never been good, it was his own choice, and the damage is already done. As long as he enjoys what he eats, his diet is fine. He will be gone in a couple of years no matter what he eats.

You have to ration out the time you spend working with demented people unless you want to end up in a mental home, and all time spent with a demented person is work. The repetition, the insults, the gaslighting, and the mess and filth wear you down, and human beings can only take so much without rest.

Other people will try to make you feel bad about refusing to turn yourself into a slave, and your patient is likely to be chief among them, but you can’t pay any attention. Your life is more important than an aging parent’s. The natural and divine orders agree: the old are supposed to sacrifice themselves for the young, and doing it the other way around is a malignant aberration.

Imagine what would have happened had Isaac Newton given up his career to look after his mother. No, I’m not Isaac Newton, but everyone has a life and a purpose.

In more encouraging news, my dad is suddenly taking a better attitude toward assisted living.

While we were discussing his breakfast problem, he asked me if he was senile. He realized being unable to fix breakfast was not normal. I discussed his dementia with him again, and I brought up assisted living. I told him his care was starting to put demands on me which I could not meet. He tried to tell me I didn’t do much for him, so I reminded him of the things I do. I said the ALF I was considering was a short distance away, and that I could take him out for lunch several times a week. I reminded him that we had an appointment to visit the place tomorrow.

He was surprisingly agreeable. He said he would do what I thought was best. Of course, he won’t remember that later today. His behavior tomorrow will depend on how he feels then. We’ll have to take up the subject all over again, de novo, as appellate courts put it.

What made the difference? I think it was prayer. The last few days were very hard, and yesterday I did what God always tells me to do. He says, “Do what you already know to do, before complaining and asking for more.” I used the power of blessing and cursing, and I prayed for God to do specific things. After I prayed, I thanked and praised God for a very long time. This is a very strong tactic, and most of us don’t do it.

I was so weary, I was thinking of fasting until tomorrow morning. No food or water. I asked God about it, and he seemed to be against it, so I had breakfast. I got good results, so I think I did the right thing.

Nothing is worse than being tied to someone who is against God. That’s the big lesson I’ve learned. I didn’t choose my parents, but I chose to stay close to my dad after I knew what he was, and after that, every bad thing that happened between us was my fault. I know people who turned to God after marrying awful spouses. They suffer like crazy. Many people have abusive friends and bosses. We’re not supposed to start down these roads. It can be extremely costly.

Tomorrow we will visit the ALF, and we will see what happens. He will be staying there temporarily week after next, so that will give him another chance to get used to it.

I was thinking of putting him in a ritzier place farther away, but the people at the closer facility seem nicer, and it will be more convenient if I have to go get him for errands and outings. If it turns out to be a bad fit, I can move him to the other one.

If I had to choose, I would prefer to drop dead at 70 instead of putting my child through what I go through. Of course, I don’t have a child, so I don’t have to worry about that. My nonexistent wife and kids have been spared, so I will have to carry my own weight if something goes wrong.

I can say this: if anyone ends up caring for me, they won’t have to worry about being abused or gaslighted. I don’t have a perfect record, but basically, I am not like that. I don’t think I would compound the fun of changing diapers and mopping walls with insults and guilt trips. I hope not.

After several years of caregiving, I can’t imagine what it will be like to be free. I’ll be able to travel. I’ll have a clean house. I won’t have to hide upstairs when I eat. I will miss my dad sometimes, even though I will see him often, but on the whole, it will be like getting out of jail.