Feeding my father. It was almost like a role reversal. I was very aware of my discomfort with every spoonful of jello. For the first time in my life, I saw the vulnerability of old age. Me, sitting there, opening the lid on his plastic hospital juice cup, like a two year old. And then I watched him take it from me and hold it in his left hand. "Is this juice cold?" he said, as the icy condensation beaded down the side of the cup and landed on his palm. Weeks later, that same hand would twice experience the burn of the teakettle, without the pain.
Imperfect balance and words that drifted aimlessly out the side of his mouth. This was not the father I knew growing up, nor the father I knew just one week before. After two weeks in the rehabilitation hospital, he returned to the house he knew and I returned once again to the father I didn't.
I told myself that I would have to grow accustomed to walking behind him and seeing that occasional stumble that was present in between coherent steps. But I never did. Years later, I have to process the demands I have for him...to continue to understand that my expectations are for the father I knew, not the father I know.
What is your experience with aging parents?
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I feel the same way about my parents...role reversal...I wonder if I'll care for my parents the same way they cared for me.
ReplyDeleteI'm conflicted. Obligation vs. sincere commitment...with an addition of the complexities of unsaid words, hurt feelings, a need for forgiveness, and unresolved inquiries leave me wondering how that stage of my life will be...when I become the care-giver.
I feel as if the conversations and interactions will be intense, and indeed emotional, and I'll constantly be reflecting. I feel like I have to obtain a peace about it now, and plan ahead--create a plan of action for that time...Is that even possible?
We'll see what happens...