When Your Ideals Seem Like Miracles

To begin, I must say this again.
To those of you who have shared your stories, kindness, and sympathy with me, I cannot thank you enough. You have shown bravery and selflessness in sharing those things with me, and as much as it's for me, I know that it's for YOU to be sharing, also. We're all being forced into growing faster than we'd like to in these situations, like being pressed into a Play-Doh mold, a thin layer taking the form of someone wiser and stronger, but damn if I don't feel hollow. I don't know when that will fill in. Perhaps it never does? Perhaps you just grow used to it until something reminds you of it, and there's that twinge.

My family is on the cusp of transition, and not a good transition, per se. Transition usually leads to a period of growth that you take with you, if wise enough, and hold on to like a lancing umbrella, perfect for when the fan turns in the face of a crap-pelting. This transition, to me anyway, feels like the beginning of the end. I haven't realized it in words like I just did, and damnit, now the tears are coming to my eyes. Damnit.

We're trying the best we can to treat my dad's condition and keep ourselves sane. My mom has taken the brunt of the condition. Her husband of 34 years has been replaced by a sometimes difficult, impulsive, child-like man who doesn't always remember to close the door when using the bathroom. This is the man who taught me the basics of calculus, jet-powered flight, spirituality, and most complex of all, women. He rarely knows what day it is. He is foreign, and alien, and it's a kick in the stomach.

The biggest question we've had through out of all this is "What are we supposed to do?" Can we heal him, without hurting him? We are feeling our way through this, like seeing-eye dogs led by a fast-walking master. My mom has the most interaction with my dad, and sees all of his ups and downs, riding her own peaks and valleys on a daily basis. She has sacrificed her time, sleep, days, nights, and much of her peace of mind to keep things moving along. Role reversal. Heartbreak. And perhaps now, hope.

My dad, while at Boeing, had invested money into a long-term care insurance program that looks like it will be a financial God-send now. In order to have this insurance take over, however, my dad would have to be in a facility. A home. Like an old-folk's home.
My dad? He's only 61. What the hell happened?
A couple weeks ago he spent a day at a home a few miles from my parent's house. The facility is equipped for the needs of people in all stages of life and dementia, keeping them socially and physically active and entertained. That's something my mom wasn't able to do, since there are so many other needs to meet, like running their budget, exercising, grocery shopping, laundry, and the daily things we all need to do for ourselves.

My dad spends one day there. And he LOVED it. So he went again last week. This time... LOVED it again. So now, our dilemma....
(more to come)