He (my husband) makes a joke and I snap at him. He’s perplexed. After an especially hard day at work, and just as he started to smile as we sip our wine he wasn’t prepared for it. He doesn’t know that when I spoke this morning to my mom, once again my dad’s condition didn’t look good, and I’ve been feeling sad and helpless about it for the past.. I don’t know how long, and his joke, completely unrelated as it was, somehow had me confront my sadness. When I explain, that is when I get a chance to explain, he understands and holds my hand…
My father. My strong, proud, capable, kind, loving, moody, handsome father is struggling with dementia in addition to Parkinson’s these days. And I keep thinking it is unfair that he has to go through this when he had always been responsible and loving, and everything to us. I know this is the natural progression of life; along with our fellow beings on this earth, our bodies and our consciousness deteriorate if we stay long enough. His is only accelerated because of the accident, I know. But I hate that he is going through it. And I hate that this is happening earlier than it should. Then I know, really, who gets to decide these things?, certainly not us. I know he is with us still, and had been, unlike many fathers, all these years. There is so much to be grateful for. I know mine is a tantrum. And I also know I still desperately want to change it ever since that day in the hospital…
