I'm very glad the universe, for the most part, only dribbles on us from time to time, instead of hitting us with a dirge. Today we had a dribble, a major one. Dad fired Britney. According to Jean, there was a whole lotta yelling going on. The reason? Well, Britney made some "suggestions" about Dad's diet. On occasion she'd leave notes for him. Dad's convinced these "notes" were intended for me too. She suggested nonfat milk instead of whole or 2%, whole wheat bread instead of white, and egg whites instead of with the yoke yada yada. Well, lately Dad's been gleefully spouting, as soon as I walk in the front door, about Britney's "suggestions". "Britney's trying to change every ones diet in the household," he'd say chuckling. I knew this was Dad's very own interpretation of what was said but hey...most of the time we just nod and go on about our business. Anyway, so today Britney brought up the nonfat vs 2% persuasion and Dad responded something like this, "Angie's not going to like what you're saying." I'm not sure why my name was brought into the discussion. "She likes her 2% milk," he told her. "Well," Britney explained, "Mr. Beck, my concern is with you, not Angie." This was the catalyst for the total and complete meltdown, which was apparently a display of temperament very unlike Dad. Mind you I wasn't there but according to Jean his blood pressure soared to 180; he spoke about how everyone is trying to control his life, how tired he is of people getting in his business, how he's going to eat whatever he chooses to eat, how he doesn't want her (Britney) to come back and the fact that Angie (me) arranges people (his children and grandchildren) to "babysit" him on the weekend, and the fact that Angie (me) goes home on the weekend just to watch Tony's big screen television, which doesn't make sense because she (still me) can move in with him and not pay rent, and that if everybody keeps bothering him he'll kick everybody out of his home, including Angie.
I need to clarify the aforementioned "spouting" didn't come out exactly as I've written today, and only some of it represents an accurate accounting, however these are some of Dad's usual complaints that have been heard by all on a daily basis, except the part about me moving in. Dad doesn't talk to me about that anymore because I've made it pretty clear I don't want to do that. At 52 years I like having my things around me, and staying at his home Monday through Friday morning is all I can emotionally handle right now. However, he continues to belabor the issue with anyone who walks through the front door.
Bottom line is Dad's blood pressure hit about 180 and the nurse is very concerned about couple of things; Dad's high a blood pressure and his extreme depression, which he admitted to. She said that if he called her by the end of the day she wouldn't put through the discharge papers. He didn't call her.
I recall as a youngster playing in the snow on a homemade toboggan--a trash can lid or a nice sturdy piece of cardboard; we'd drag it to the top of a big hill and go barrelling down across the packed snow screaming at the top of our lungs. It was exhilarating. I feel like Dad's on the toboggan at the top of Mt. Fujiyama and he's barrelling down the sides of the mountain in the snow completely out of control. And frantic and terrified and scared, we're all running, stumbling, falling down the mountain trying to grab hold in order to slow it down, to catch him before he hits the bottom. To save him.
Everything seems that out of our control, and not being able to "save" him is what keeps me up at night. And we're trying, really hard. I can't even begin to imagine how Dad feels. He is the one, after all, trying to steer something that continues to be unequivocally out of his control, and in God's hands.
Help him, God, please.
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