In late June of that year I flew to Pennsylvania (I was still living in Texas) for a three week stay with my aging parents. My visit the previous September concerned me. Dad's dementia was getting worse and my nearly daily phone conversations with mom were downright depressing. I was convinced she was killing herself taking care of my dad. I dreaded going back to the town of my youth. My alcoholic behavior included a great deal of selfishness. I would have been much happier--I figured--vacationing in a place where I could continue the big party that was my life in my mid-forties. I was journaling extensively however and this trip would be an added bonus as dad shared that he would like to have me record his story for posterity--particularly the story about his time in the Air Corps and his 1950 near-fatal car accident. I was happy to comply. Just keep the drinks coming.
Shortly after I arrived, I wrote this:
6-24-10
...I look at my dad and see me forty years from now--if I'm lucky enough to survive that long. He is in terrible shape. The dementia, Parkinson's Disease, fragile skin...all of it will be mine if I can survive into my eighties. I certainly don't want to live my life depending on others. I think the incontinence is the worst. The inability to control one's own bowels or bladder has got to be the most humiliating part of it all.
Later, same entry:
Mom's mind is as sharp as it's been since as far back as I can remember. She is active (very much so in regards to caring for dad) and with the exception of moving more slowly and some depression, she does surprisingly well for her age. I've been enjoying the time I spend with her and I'm sure we'll never see eye-to-eye on some things--but my relationship with her is solid and good. Of course, I love her. She's a good soul. More importantly, she's my mother. The only one I'll ever have. I really can see myself living on after she's gone but I feel that there will always be a void. Same holds true for dad. But with dad, I already feel it now. Dad's presence now is a shadow of what it used to be. Sometimes, when I'm talking with him, I can see his mind wandering to another place. I wonder where that place is. I wonder if he's aware of how much he's already slipped away. It makes me very sad. And of course, sometimes angry. Angry that I can't do anything about it.
Mom would be leaving in few days to spend a week with my sister and her husband in Maryland. I would be alone with dad--taking care of him. It would be the last time I would visit with my father while he was living at the house on Elk Avenue. Subsequent visits would take place in a nursing facility in a nearby town and a couple very brief visits to his beloved home at holiday time. It was disappointing that I couldn't get more of the "story" out of dad during this heart wrenching visit but I had some of the most wonderful conversations with mom. They were a precursor to the conversations we'd have when we would eventually live together just four years later. Reading about those visits gives me strength now as I reach out to her and hope for messages through the spotting of a cardinal at the birdfeeder or get lucky reading something she'd written years ago that just happens to speak to me today.
Three weeks in June and July.
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