The first hours

This is a Really Real Aging Parent post.

The first 2 hours (3 hours? 4 hours? what time is it anyway) were one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my entire life.

Within an hour after we got home, he was on the floor (gently, when I realized what we were doing wasn’t going to work and I couldn’t get him up on the wheelchair, I helped him sit on the floor).

He was overwhelmed and grouchy and didn’t want to listen to a damn thing.He yelled, a lot, but it was the weakest most pitiful thing I’ve heard. I just felt sorry for him, not scared by him.

A neighbor came over and helped me get him off the floor and back in bed. They set up the TV which was a giant clusterfuck because of 1 bad power supply,. That took at least an hour to figure out, with dad saying “Let me fix it, give me the remote.””No, Dad, be patient.””I’m tired of being patient.”At one point I looked at him after he told me to do something and I said “Dad, I’m not doing that.”Instead of fighting he said “You’re not doing that.”


While he was on the floor, he grabbed my hand a few times and squeezed it. I asked him if he needed something, he said “no, just squeezing your hand.” That’s probably the closest thing to a thanks that I’ll get, and honestly, I’ll take it.

I don’t think this will last very long, he’s beyond the home level of health care, I think. I’m hoping to get his dog home for at least a day or two. But maybe I’m wrong, maybe we’ll get into a routine. A CNA is coming at some point tomorrow, maybe they can help me figure out how to do this a little easier.

Right now he’s finally starting to doze off, and it’s very likely that I’ll be asleep soon after him. We’re both exhausted.Don’t ever let me get that old.

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