Dad

He thinks I can have a fall back career as a professional caregiver. I guess I should take that as a compliment, but I know what I'm capable of and care giving isn't it. Doctors, nurses, teachers...people who dedicate their lives to serving other people are special. I'm not like that. I can't stand the sight of blood and I fall apart bearing witness to someone else's pain. What keeps me going when taking care of dad is well, the obvious fact that he's my dad, and that I love him. And my determination to keep him from feeling really bad. I wanted to be his cushion against all of the bad stuff happening to him; keep him in his own home, shield him against loneliness and grief, the discomfort caused by multiple illnesses, and the embarrassment and shame caused by his aging body's betrayal. I just wanted to help is all, but it's really hard to stay on track sometimes. 'Cause some days dad can be really difficult, and that's an understatement.

But I'm crumbling emotionally like an old brick building. I'm too overwhelmed by fear, that my lack of nursing skills and ignorance will cause him more harm than good; I'm angry, because what's happening to him is so grossly unfair; I'm exhausted from waking up at all hours of the night wondering if this is going to be the night when he stops breathing; I'm bitter and resentful for so many things not even worthy of mentioning.

Dad needs someone to hold him up, even when he's too ornery and cranky to tolerate, someone who will not focus on his imperfections, but remember that he was a hardworking man. A man who at 17 years dropped out of the military to take care of his mother who was dying of breast cancer, who married a woman with 4 kids before the age of 30; kids who grew up calling him dad for the last umpteen years. A man who housed, fed and clothed his family when they needed all that. He needs someone who patiently listens when he gives his opinion for the 100Th time behind the breakup between Jennifer and Brad, or the mistakes Americans made leading to the bombing of Pearl Harbor, or why insurance companies are crooks or the fact that you can still eat fried food, hostess cupcakes, cookies and cakes even if you have diabetes. This is the same man who held his family up when we couldn't do it on our own. Now, he needs his family to do the same thing for him.

I can't do it by myself, so I've been reaching out. But I'm done with that, tired of asking, and frustrated that I even have to. I hope dad will be blessed with many, many more years, but when he's gone I think that everything that was once familiar will go with him. And trying to take all of that in, leaves me feeling a bit empty inside.