Pretty sure Dad is getting ready to go up to the rehab place and “get answers”… or, at the very least, “tell them how it is”. He’s in the shower for the first time since I’ve been here.
I’ve been given a lot of instruction about how I should essentially “manage” Dad. As though after 41 years of being his daughter, somehow, miraculously I have that power.
I am tempted to call the rehab place to give them warning.
I am tempted to hide the keys (and honestly, I need the decent car today…) I tried to get things going well and smoothly from the get-go of this transition to the rehab place. They chose to not cooperate until several days into the game (and it’s still a fight). They chose not to have a navigable system.
I cannot help that.
I am sorry for the stress that Dad will cause and the set back that stress may cause Mom. I am not a buffer or a shield for a company.
This has been a long time in coming and it will likely not hit a “point” of crisis just yet. And maybe it won’t ever really come to a head but instead, just be a terrible mix of continuing to be out of control and powerlessness and an unwillingness to let anyone else be right. I don’t know.
What I do know is I tried for a lot of years prior to leaving for Alaska to help protect my kids, Mom and the general public from Dad. I couldn’t do it on my own then and I cannot suddenly fight all the forces needing vanquishment to keep people safe from him now.
And there were lots of choices made by Mom and Dad leading up to this. So many things done, left unsaid to “keep the peace”.
It is difficult watching the long harvest season resulting from those choices. I would like to skip this yield, let it lie to rot in the fields, or, better yet, not mature into fruition at all. It isn’t my field to manage and the owners aren’t going to accept me as overseer.
July 22, 2015