Sometimes, You Just Don't Have Any Weapons

I can't tell you that this blog will be funny or entertaining in the near future. I'm crawling into this internet hole and writing every now and then just to try to keep my skeleton inside my body. The thing with my dad is devastating, and far more unpredictable than I could've imagined.

Dad's usual daily routine for the past year has included about 16 hours of sleep. When he isn't napping, he wants to be. He starts begging to go to bed for the night in the late afternoon. As though his battery is incredibly low and he's half conscious.

When he first got to the nursing home 13 days ago, the sleeping continued. This was a bit of a blessing, because we could tell ourselves that he's getting to do what he wants to do: sleep as much as he wants. Most of the time he won't even realize he's not at home.

Today, when Mom and I got to Shiny Meadows, around 1:00, everything went tilt. Dad started in on Mom, and he did not stop. He did not take a single nap, he talked NON-STOP all day, from when we got there to when we left at 8:00. And I don't care HOW melodramatic this may sound, but it was as though the Devil himself had written the script for Dad to directly torture Mom. These were Dad's repetitive lines:

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming today."
"Why can't I go home?"
"Why won't you let me come home?"
"I thought I was a good boy. I must be a bad boy or I would get to go home."
"Don't you miss me through the night? I miss you all night!"
"I don't like it here. I want to come home with you."
"Why can't we sleep in the same place again?"
"Who determines when I get to go home?"
"I don't want to stay here the rest of my life. I need to go home."

And it Did. Not. Stop.

I had to get out and go to the "Y" to get away from it, to get on an elliptical for awhile, and had to pull the car over twice on the way back to the nursing home, from panic attacks.

It felt like I was watching Dad put cigarettes out on Mom's skin. I feel so sorry for him, ache for him all the way to my bones, but I wanted to duct tape his mouth shut.

Mom was stunned by exhaustion and guilt and grief when she fell into bed tonight.

This is what the spouse, left behind, endures. Left behind at home, living on their own, trying to make loving decisions, trying to find a reason to go on. Left behind in lucidity.