At long last, I am on the plane heading home. After an incredibly busy 2 weeks, I once again forgot to give myself adequate recovery time upon my return. At least I am used to hitting the ground running.
For the first time in a long time, I am eager to call my parents when I get home. And by eager I mean after I have settled down with my cats and recovered my equilibrium. Given that we will likely get home around noon, I may wait until tomorrow morning when I can catch my father at his best.
I am finding it hard to let go after the few days I spent living with my father. I spoke to him once last week, and he was convinced I was my brother. I tried correcting him several times and then gave up and told him what I knew about how my brother’s vacation was going. Fortunately, I had spoken to my brother and niecelettes earlier in the day, so I was at least able to provide up-to-date information.
All things considered, I was surprisingly ok with my father not knowing it was me. I was mostly just pleased to hear that he was in a chipper, albeit not particularly chatty, mood. I know my father has a different relationship with my brother than her does with me. That made it hard to tell if that was what a typical conversation between them sounds like or if he just wasn’t in the mood to talk.
I have spent the week noodling on what made this time spent with my father so much more impactful to me than the time I spent alone with him last year. His generally positive affect certainly helped, but I think there is more to it than that. Perhaps there is something about his current state that taps into long-forgotten memories of him from my childhood. Before I started to lose him to depression and self-isolation.
I also have to keep reminding myself that by all accounts, he presents me with his best self. I have certainly heard stories about him being stubborn and cantankerous from my his aide, my mother, brother and sister-in-law. I saw none of that while I was with him. The worst I saw was a little bit of pushback about using his walker. But he never put up the kind of fight that I know he is capable of.
I know there is no turning back the clock, but there is a piece of me that really wishes I could freeze my father’s decline where he is now. I want to hang on with both hands to the connection he and I made during this most recent trip. I don’t know what his continued decline will bring. What I do know is that at some point the man I know will be subsumed by dementia. And I am in no hurry for that day to come.