End of the chapter

Saying good-bye to my father, as I closed up his former apartment and prepared to head back home to my former life, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After loading my car and signing the papers releasing the apartment, I sat in the car and cried. No, no, I thought, I can’t be in tears when I say good-bye to Dad. Recovering somewhat, I went into Dad’s building and found him eating dinner in the dining room.

“Dad, you know I have to leave tomorrow and drive back to Utah,” I said. He didn’t look too surprised. Good, I thought, he understands what’s going on. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” I asked.

He looked thoughtful, started to say something, but couldn’t find the words. In little bits and pieces, I finally understood that he was frustrated with his meals – not what he ordered. Well, one of the nursing staff, who doesn’t yet know his likes and dislikes, had filled out his meal order form for the week, and, although I had made corrections after it was submitted, my corrections obviously were not followed. When one of the dining staff showed up, I reminded her of Dad’s likes and dislikes. This seemed to placate Dad, but I’ll follow up with an email just in case.

When he had finished eating, I walked him back to his room, got him into his recliner and asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He seemed to want to say something but nothing coherent was coming out. Finally, I asked, “Do you want to see what’s on TCM tonight?”

“Sure,” he said.

I turned on the TV. Good, a western! Then, I said, “Well, Dad, I have to hit the road.” I kissed him and said, “You take care of yourself, and remember, I’ll be back in six weeks!”

He said, “Well, you say hello to the folks.” I guess he meant my husband and sons, none of whom are home, but I said I would.

Then, hurrying to leave, I said, “Say prayers for me the next few days.”

He seemed to want to say something else, but by then the tears were coming back and I had to get out of there. “Bye Dad,” I called and hurried from the room, closing the door behind me.

I’m no good at long good-byes, and with Dad’s communication difficulties, there’s no such thing as a short good-bye. I could hear him calling after me, “Hey, wait…” but I was gone, tears splashing down my cheeks as I ran down the hall.

I boo-hoo’d to Buford, a one-hour drive, looking in the mirror at stoplights to see what damage I was doing to my eyes. My already-congested head was impossibly stuffed up, and I kept telling myself to stop, but I guess I needed a good cry, a catharsis. It was as though I was grieving for both my parents, the one lost forever to cancer, the other lost to dementia, though his physical self is still alive.

Tomorrow I will begin a 4-5-day drive to Utah, the end of my creative caregiving adventure. The next chapter will involve caring from a distance, managing remotely, quarterly consultations…at least until the needs change.

Heaven protect me from my negative thoughts, but I have found myself wondering what I will do when I get the call that Dad is in the hospital, or has been diagnosed with cancer, or…. Will I once again pack my car and head for Atlanta for an indefinite period of intense caregiving? I don’t know the answer, but I am thankful for the blessings, in the midst of trauma and sadness, during the past six months.

Sue