... I mean Dad (not the other guy... that's fizzling fast)
Just wanted to share a bittersweet moment with everyone. As most of you know, I've been in complete chaos for the past few months, but Dad and I will officially be roomies this coming weekend (YAY), and it is my hope that I can get a handle on some things like
- His chronic constipation/ diarrhea roller coaster (which I think may be a result of over use of Morphine followed by over use of suppositories, etc and poor diet maintenance)
- Incontinence maintenance (regular changing of undergarments, etc)
- Maybe get some weight on him
- More regular routine
BUT... this weekend, Dad was frantically searching for "Krissy" (what he's called me since I was a little girl). I didn't correct him and tell him I was Krissy (it appears that he forgot that I'm all grown up), I just asked him who he was looking for.
He said "I can't find my little girl". I keep my first grade picture in a drawer in his room, and I pulled it out and said "Here she is!" He held the picture and smiled, and said "This is my baby girl, Krissy. I love my baby girl,"
... as the tears rolled down my cheeks, I looked back at him and said "She loves you, too."
I've stated before that things changed for me after Dad's stroke. It's like the eyes of compassion opened, and I've found that my anger is more towards the facility and their (in my opinion) complete incompetence. I don't feel the same resentment I once did about caregiving.
It still gets hard and when I'm tired, I get impatient, but these bittersweet moments confirm that I'm doing the right thing getting him out of that H***HOLE.
Who knows what's ahead, but never hearing my Dad say I love you was hard. It was nice to know that he actually does... young Tinyblu or old...