Heavy.

And so it continues.  This disease is unfair, it's a thief, it steals everything.  It's plain ugly.  We lost uncle George this week.  He was my dad's brother who also had dementia.  We didn't even tell dad because really, what is the point?  He can't comprehend things like that anymore.  His bubble gets smaller and smaller each day.  Even each minute maybe ... I'm so mad.

I have to say that the VA has been great.  Dad was a Drill Sergeant in the Marines in the Korean War ...  so now he reaps the benefits.  All benefits except being able to live without confusion from this bastard of a disease.  The VA pays for a nurse that comes to mom and dad's house 3 days a week for 3 hours.  She's sweet and loves hanging with my dad.  But you know what?  3 days a week for 3 hours isn't enough.  Would it be enough for a 2 year old?  Nope.  So the request for more time has been placed.  This shit is insane.  And I'm so mad.

This is going so fucking fast.  Hold on a minute.  Can I just breathe real quick?  Because for the last 6 years I haven't been breathing I don't think.  I'm not sure though.  We just go through these motions.  Trained robots if you will.  Some days I walk through a fog.  The fog protects me I guess.  Because you can't see my face or even have a clue what I'm feeling.  I smile all the time.  And I crack jokes. Those jokes get me through.  And when dad's having a clear moment, he laughs at my jokes.  You would think he just handed me a winning lottery ticket, but let's face it.  I live for the flickers of   lucid.

Thursday, me, mom and Drew came to Minnesota for July 4th.  It's the first time we have left dad together for as long as I can remember.  I think Drew was 2.  My brother Chris came to stay with him for 5 days, but wouldn't you know, he left after the first night and left everything to my sister.  Wow.  Welcome to our world.  This is our dad now.  Fucking deal with it.  My brothers need to see the reality because I think that when dad is physically gone, they'll have regrets if they don't.  To be completely honest, I don't give two shits about that.  Play the hand.  That man right there is our dad.  After learning about the medications, the routine, the meals, the Sundowners.  Chris looked at me and said "this is so hard to see dad like this."  Ugh.  That's something I want to scream in people's faces all the time.  "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE?"  No.  Of course they don't.  Just like I don't know what's going on in anyone else's hand they were dealt.  I get it.  And I don't give a shit.

Have you ever let go of a balloon and watched it soar?  You can't do a damn thing about it.  It's gone.  You won't see that balloon ever again.  That's the best analogy I can think of for this.  I read something that said life is a delicate balance of holding on and letting go.  It's true.  It really is.

I used to be reluctant to let anyone know just how bad it really was.  "How is your dad?"  "He's doing well, thanks."  Yea those explanations aren't even in my realm of thinking.  "He's plugging along" even seems a far stretch.  It is here.  The reality that is.  That we can't do this alone.  The family has continuously proven they are not going to step up.   Unfuckingbelievable.  But I promise not to waste my energy on it.  But really, I'm done with all of them.  So working through the guilt of that and the thought of daddy knowing of his wavering reality is almost too much to bare. 

Now the questions from little lady come more frequently and she helps soften the harshness for her papa.  She tells him it's ok to be confused, she stands in front of him to block the accident he just had, she holds his hand and tells him to "think slower."  Not sure what I did to deserve her but she's here for so many more reasons than I could've ever imagined.

I always end my blogs with either a note to dad, Drew, and mom or something I'm grateful for.  Because believe it or not, sometimes this thing is hard to get through and it takes me days at times.

Exhausting.

So here goes.. 

Daddy, I don't know where we go from here and I wish I had answers.  At least some.  I promise you will always feel me with you in no matter what capacity.  I'm sorry.  And as always I miss you.

Mom, I'm here of course and would never dream of going anywhere.  I'm pretty good at being a pillar I think.  Feel free to lean.  I know you need me and I need you.

Drewy, since this blog was created for you, really, I'll just say this.  I want you to soak up everything you can from this experience.  Maybe not now because you're so little, but as you read when you're older, you will see that strength, courage, grace, and love will deem you unbreakable through the toughest of battles.  

Without those things kid, we all have nothing.