Every time I got a call from the hospital, the social workers, Medi-cal, the caregivers, the doctors, and the nurses regarding my father, my blood pressure went up, my shoulders would tense up and I would crave an alcoholic drink.
One day, I questioned why this was so? And I finally got it. Each time someone asked me to make a decision about my father, through my filters of insecurities and inadequacy, I always heard the following:
“You fucked up. You’re a bad daughter. You shouldn’t have moved him the U.S. What were you thinking? How could you abandon him? How could you fail him? He gave you birth! You owe your entire life to him! You are obligated to sacrifice yourself to him! You deserve to be miserable on his behalf! You failed at making him happy!”
And I finally got complete with that today.
My husband got me present to the life that my father had after he moved to California. His life in Toronto was doomed for failure. He lived in a townhouse in the Toronto suburb of Etobicoke, which has seriously steep stairs. He had roommates that all disliked him. (No surprises there!) His house was a disgusting infested mess. It got cold in the winter. The streets were icy and snowy in the winter. And hardly anyone helped him with groceries, with going to the doctor, or with anything else.
In California, he lived in this beautiful small bungalow with a beautiful backyard and a gardener (that I arranged) to trim his garden and make sure it was watered and maintained. The weather rarely changed. And I busted my ass making sure that he was taken care of. This was something I could not have done if he lived 3000 miles away in Toronto. My dad lived a really good extra 6 years independently, and with caregivers that managed his well being and basically catered to his every request and every need. He never worried about it being too cold or too slippery to walk outside, he never wondered who would take him to the doctor, and he never worried about being alone, or cooking his own food, or taking his medications. Mind you, he actually did still worry, but everything was taken care of.
What I really got today on a whole new level is that I REALLY AM an amazing daughter. And the only thing I failed at was to give myself the acknowledgement for being that amazing, committed daughter to him. Now that I truly see that, I can stop getting triggered by every phone call that someone makes to me regarding my father.
I own the way things are right now. I also own the way things are not. There are a shit load of things still incomplete regarding my father. I owe the caregiver agency money. I need to get my dad’s taxes done. I need to rent out his house. I need to get his Medi-cal reinstated (another breakdown which I won’t even go into). I need to get him a primary care doctor (after I get his Medi-Cal reinstated!). So much to do. It’s overwhelming. And a man can walk a thousand steps by going just one step at a time. And this is what I am doing.
Adventures with my Elderly Father 