Long-Distance Care for My Real Life Superhero

Dad and I 1970

 

 

 

 

 

Recently, my Dad asked my siblings and me to start helping clean out his house in Virginia.  I was able to head down that way last weekend with the BFFer.  She’s like one of his kids and I was grateful for the company.  She also keeps me accountable. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do all I did (which wasn’t much) if she wasn’t around.  Cleaning is not one of my strong suits.  I’m easily overwhelmed by large tasks.

My Dad has a lovely, Civil-War era home 45 minutes away from Colonial Williamsburg. He has Parkinson’s Disease and wants to sell the house because it is too hard for him to keep up with these days  He is also not living full time in the house anymore since he’s now moved in with his girlfriend who is also his full-time caregiver.

Luckily, this house isn’t the house my brother and I, as well as our children, so it isn’t that hard to make decisions on what toss and what to keep.  There isn’t much emotional attachment to items there, except my Dad’s family heirlooms.

It’s a huge house and my Dad likes to accumulate “stuff”.  That meme about the Dad who has coffee cans full of screws and nails, that’s him.  I don’t know if he is a hoarder but there are hoarder tendencies. The house isn’t stuffed full, but the garage, well, I’m leaving the garage for my brother and Uncle to cleanout. Lots of tools in there and other things.

I wish he didn’t have to sell the house. While not the house most of my family memories occurred, it’s a lovely home and I had hoped that one day I could move in and care for the house. Alas, I’m just a writer with a day job that pays my bills and not much else.  The reality is that I could never afford that big house as much as I have fantasized about opening up a bed and breakfast or creating a homestead there.

Distance sucks.

It’s hard being a long-distance caregiver.  I’ve offered to move down to Virginia to help out several times, but my Dad always says no.  So I trek back to New York until my next visit.  I used to visit only once a year, now its 3 or 4 times.  I call him multiple times a week as well, to check-in and just to chat.  It’s not as good as being there every day, but it’s something.

I do my best to focus on the little things when it comes to my Dad’s health.  Some days when I call, it’s not a good day.  I keep the conversation short and call again the next day.  Sometimes, his depression kicks in hard. I completely understand these bad days because I have similar days as well.  I do my best to keep the conversation light. When I need to have important conversations with him, I wait until we’re face to face.

One of the things I struggle with is the feeling of helplessness.  I’m so grateful to his girlfriend who does all the daily living things for him and with him.  She gets him to doctor appointments, makes sure he eats well, keeps him active and even takes him on vacations.

My Dad takes a lot of meds, not just for the Parkinson’s but he also suffers from PTSD.  He tells me the combination of medications “fogs his brain”.  His memory lapses worry me, but the reality is I cannot do anything about it.  This past visit, he had a moment of not knowing where he was.  I spoke with his girlfriend and my brother and we’ve agreed, he cannot drive himself any longer. Even around their little town.

I feel bad about taking the keys away.  Driving is a sign of being independent.  Anyone who knows my Dad knows he hates relying on other people.  I know that I struggle with his declining health, I can’t even imagine how he feels.  Every so often he lets slip a comment like “why is my body betraying me”.  I do my best not to cry in front of him because I don’t want to add any stress to an already stressful situation.

Not all Dads wear capes.

For so long my Dad could and would fix anything.  He’d build us bookshelves, dollhouses, fix toys, and even give us a safe place to be when the world was coming down on you.  My son used to bring home broken toys from school to give to my Dad.  He would tell his friends “If my Pop can’t fix it, it’s broken.”

Now more than anything I want to “fix it” for him and I can’t.  I’m frustrated.  I cannot even begin to imagine the frustration he feels daily.  He went from being active every moment of the day to a man that worries about walking to the bathroom.

It’s not an easy situation we’re in.  The distance makes it hard for me to gauge how quickly the disease is affecting him.  When I talk with his girlfriend, she tries to keep the conversation light.  She doesn’t like focusing on the negative. I appreciate that about her.  As time and his disease progress, more difficult decisions will have to be made.  I’m aware of that but for now, I’m going to focus on the good stuff.  The time we spend together.  Whether it’s taking him to a museum for the afternoon or just running him to Wal-Mart, I value the time more than I ever have before.  I don’t want to look back when his time comes (or mine) and think “I didn’t spend enough time with Dad”.

He is my superhero.  Even if he can’t climb ladders or take me for a drive in the mountains anymore, he will always be my superhero.