the next step

So, I found myself in my childhood home, in my childhood bedroom. With my parents. A place I not only never expected to be, I never, ever wanted to be. I was not the chosen child despite being the eldest. I was always at odds with my mother, crazy about my father and totally unwilling to get involved. I felt misunderstood. They didn't get my husband, an unusual man to be sure. They mostly disagreed with every single one of my choices. I thought my brother would have the care of the parents because it seemed he could do no wrong. Now, I love my brother to distraction, but he's a sneaky wee man. He flies under everybody's radar, which is ironic since that is what he does for a living. I just thought it would be his responsibility to choose things for them because they didn't really like me. So I consulted him. He said, well, you're available. it's not like you have a job or anything. or a mortgage or even a lease.

I stayed. I cooked, I took them to the doctor. Seems my dad had never even told Mom's doctor about her mental changes, and I mourned for what she had lost that maybe she wouldn't have if he had just spoken up. I mourned for all the arguments we had had on the phone because I didn't understand what was happening to her. I couldn't understand just why she accepted me, bragged on me to her friends. She had only trashed me before, lied to people about what I did, ran me down at every opportunity. What was different this time? So I picked a time when she seemed to be all there, and I asked her, what was different? Why did she like me all of a sudden? She said, this time you got involved. You invested something of yourself into our lives. That was all she needed to suddenly like me? Look at all the years I wasted. Look at all the time I wasted. My mother was suddenly a sweet, delicate woman. Someone who liked pink dresses, soft fabric, and pearls. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I asked my dad, what happened to her? How did she get so cold and judgemental if this was who she was inside? He didn't know. They were not introspective people, as a lot of the people who went through the war were not. They tended to deal with concrete things, in absolutes, not in concepts. I had a weird flashback to the 60's when I made my dad love beads to wear with his turtleneck and blazer, and how baffled he was. Ultimately, he wore a medallion, which I guess was okay. My dad was totally a fashionista, and now I get it. His closets are still full of the most stylish clothes from the 40's onward. can't seem to get rid of them. and all the pockets are full of cough drops.

Okay, that was a strange aside. But it's part of what I found when I moved back in here. Dad got better, but he never regained his mental status. It was a urinary tract infection, untreated because he couldn't remember that he was sick and needed to take medicine. I found out by accident, and it took 3 months of antibiotics and other things to heal him, but it was too late for his brain. So sad. My dad was such a special person, he was funny, and he always had a project, and he never finished anything. He was active in the Masonic Lodge, but when he started forgetting things, they started forgetting him. He came to terms with me, he would tell people "this is my daughter, she keeps me straight". I tried to respect his dignity, did not make decisions for him, but just reminded him of things. Like which side of the road to drive on. And to not buy any more gold coins that he didn't even freaking want. It was hard. I missed my husband and my son, and even the dog. But they came eventually. I thought the burden would be easier more distributed. But that did not turn out to be the case at all.  Oh this is hard. This is not what I wanted to do at all. But I think I have to, so bear with me.