My father’s illness is a brutal one, both physically and mentally on him and his family. His Parkinsons causes him discomfort for sure and requires those around him to help. His dementia requires they think for him and it robs him of being present. He gets lost in a sea of memories and stimulus, creating new moments that only exist for him.

During his stay at the hospital he’d grow concerned over people or events that resembled something played out on the TV in the previous hour.  The necessary changing of the nursing staff had him convinced he was being sent to different rooms. Of one thing he was sure; he’d been kidnapped and we were helping.

When he’s in his own mind he’ll take us at our word, even is he thinks we’re being smart asses. But when he slips into delirium he can’t trust us in the least. I can’t blame him; if it looks like spiders on your foot then by golly you’ve got spiders on your foot.

I’m not sad or disappointed at this point. We’re in full management mode and that requires we put aside self pity for another day. I’ve got a cousin with a special needs child that requires a lot of attention so I know it can be done. My brother manages most of the in home care while I navigate a lot of the funding and logistics.

Dad’s dilemma is he’s got a whole lifetime of independence struggling and jumping around inside his head. When he opens his eyes he’s got two grown men telling him he’s not thinking correctly. He doesn’t know them, because he’s stuck in 1974 and we’re just children. Or worse he’s stuck in some escheresque monstrosity of reality.

Being present for him is like waking from a nightmare. Suddenly being present is a miracle, a dawn after the storm. But then you realize the nightmare is beginning again. Or maybe you don’t see it coming and poof; you’re gone.

I don’t know if genetically I’m at risk for this condition, but I’m accepting it could be mine to own one day. The future may bring me choices he doesn’t have and that makes me feel a bit guilty. We’ve prepared for this possibility too with lots of insurance. It’s all I can do. I hope it’s enough.

And the rest is a struggle to remain present.