As many of you know, my father's health has been deteriorating fairly rapidly this past year. His dementia has worsened to the point that we as a family, as well as his doctors, had to make the difficult decision to put him into long-term care. He has lived with me for the past two and a half years, and I am thankful for the time we've had. It helped me to come to terms with the fact that, at 86 years of age, a good amount of time on this earth, my dad will not always be here.

He's dying. Alzheimers has no cure. It could be months from now, years, perhaps. But in any event, the Dad I love is leaving. It is a long and painful goodbye. He has lashed out at me countless times, the words no less harsh than if they were said by a sane person, but buffered by the fact that he knows not what he does. His paranoia and mistrust are deep, and this has confirmed his suspicions. Yes, we are all working together. Yes, we are trying to take away his rights. Because we can no longer trust his judgment.

He told me of his plans to escape and drive to Tennessee the other day, where none of us would find him. This kind of thing terrifies me. To think of him dying, alone and lost, getting into a car accident, possibly injuring or killing innocent people.  Instead of enjoying his Thanksgiving day with us, he spent the afternoon plotting ways of escaping and being angrily silent. We are his enemies, in his eyes. No longer the loving family that cares and adores him.

I had a very frank conversation with Avery the other day. One that she is probably too young to understand, but I needed to say. I told her "Please, when I am old, and can no longer care for myself, do the right thing and put me into a nursing home. Promise me you won't feel guilty."

Because guilt is the foremost feeling I have. I know why. I know the doctors will not allow Dad home without 24 hour supervision, but it is still hard to forgive myself. I always told myself I would take care of my parents. It just never occured to me how profoundly affecting living with Alzheimers is. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in years. Dad would sundown and wander. The breaking point was when he started doing unsafe things. Cooking in the middle of the night. Leaving burners on. Running a space heater too close to the bed.

So Avery's well-being came into play. I knew it would be time soon. And my sisters did as well. Both of them are in the medical field, and knew exactly what would happen. I was naive enough to think that Dad's moments of lucidity were hopeful. Those moments are few and far between now. 

I will always rememeber my proud,  loving, stubborn father for the way he was. I am holding the tender memories close. As he lashes out at me and everyone he loves, I realize that my father is still there, somewhere. And I will see him again, not in this life, but in the next.