Views From The Middle

Most days it is hard to put words to my thoughts, actions or "life"; not because I lack the intelligence to choose the words, but because I have such precious little time.
Which I feel is really a "cop-out" due to the fact that I am NOT exactly busy 100% of the time. I do have "downtime", when I am just in a sort of disengaging limbo. I read the mail, spend time with my companion parrot, Pablo; cat, Paloma or by watching TV. I could not be in this limbo, but I find that my brain and body need this time to organize things and allow the "filing" to be done so I can achieve restful sleep.
If I was more ambitious, or more driven could I go 100% of the time? How does Martha Stewart do it? I need at least 7 hours of sleep to even make me worthy company. I just cannot function without sleep, unless I really can see the next nap or bedtime coming up. I would make a horrible spy or fugitive.
These days my life has been thrown a new wrench; my Dad is again in a nursing home. It is a necessary shift in housing, but this does not make it any more palatable. In fact because my mother and their companion dog, Lolly live at home; it makes it harder. Another stop on my neverending route of visits and "things to do".
Being in the middle, being THE middle. is made harder by housing changes. And the organic, natural events of aging also impact the middle; more so than it could ever affect the beginning or the end.
I had a conversation with my Dad this past week, where I was trying to explain to him why he was in a nursing home, why he was not able to be at his home with Mom. It did not go well. It seemed that with every explanation, he refused the answer. He would appear to be taking the last thought and try to figure out a way to make it be what he wanted it to be, instead. I told him (reminded him) that Mom had had some surgery on her knee and that she needed therapy, that she was not physically able to help him at home. He thought for a moment and then looked at his wife and said "you hurt your knee?". I could see that what I was explaining to him was causing him to feel very sad, very alone. His reaction caused me sadness. I wanted to be able to look at him and say that I would figure out a way for him to go home again.
Mom and I left, but not before we (I) walked him into the dining room for lunch.
Nursing homes are sad places. They just aren't places that give people pause to feel or think happy thoughts. I could tell that dad was scared. I could tell that he didn't want to think that he was part of this group of people who showed all the signs of decaying life and loss of function. But part of me wanted him to at least engage, to choose to not be a permanent part of that place. To choose to fight to keep the function he still has and the ability to live life to his fullest, and choose that so maybe he can come home. I left him so sad. I was sad, I wanted to change things, it made Mom sad, too.
I spent the better part of 2009 with my father choosing to lose pieces of his life. He was admitted to the hospital wth gangrene, and lost one of his great toes. The rehab was brutal, for everyone; well Dad, Mom, and me. Dad is a horrible patient. He is noncompliant, which generally means that he says NO much more than he ever says yes. He refused therapy; he refused bathing; he refused meds; he refused to stand; he refused to ever pee on his own again. In June 2009, dad had been home for about 5 weeks and he fell! He broke both his tibia and fibula; it was horrible. He had a cast. And he had his second "bout" with skilled nursing facilities. Something inside of him broke (that is how I see it), he told us that he would NEVER WALK AGAIN. Here is a 70 year old man, saying he will never walk again. It was maddening! Nothing mom or I said made a difference. He decided the only way he would transfer from on place to another was via "slide board". And in September Dad received his powered chair/jazee.
He has never stood. He barely does anything on his own. He has been bathed and helped to the toilet by a nurse's aid or Mom. And Mom can't do that for him now.
Sometimes I try to compose my father's obit in my head when I am upset or thinking about him too much. I try to find all the things I love about him and pick out the things he would want to be immortalized by in an obit. I never come up empty. The memories are always there and fresh. But inevitably I begin the obit with "Garry lived and died by his choices". Because if nothing else can be said about my father, he had choices. He chose. He chose to smoke for over 55 years. He chose to become a Catholic. He chose to marry my mother. He chose to retire early. He chose to not stand. He chose to never walk again. I wonder if my father's passing will be because he chooses to not engage in life? It is sad to consider from the middle. Because my struggle is ongoing, everyday, every minute; but because of my position; I can kinda understand his thought processes.
He told my mother and me, "I am not strong". My mother thought he meant physical strength; but I knew he meant mentally. He feels overwhelmed by the emotions of being old, being disabled, being in the nursing home. Without owning it, he is feeling the weight of his choices during his life.
I would like my father to have a "do over"; but that can't be. So I try to love him, all the while knowing, trying to integrate into myself that I don't want to "be him".
I hope that makes sense to the reader.
I love my parents beyond measure; I just really want to learn from their lives to make mine better.