For 23 years my dad's disability and the resulting strain this has caused for my mom have been a constant in the back of my mind. In recent years, his worsening condition added the specific worry regarding how to get him into a nursing home, how to pay for it and how to physically convince him to go, and how to ensure that the staff will keep him from escaping.
My mom has carried the brunt of the whole situation by virtue of being his wife, his caretaker, and his guardian ad litem. I was left feeling helpless to help either of them, and therefore feeling like I could never be a good enough daughter.
What's more, I felt guilty also for having expectations of my mom that had to regularly be revisited in light of the fact that what she's had to deal with on a daily basis meant her bandwidth just did not leave room for what by comparison were my petty desires.
The situation, the limitations, the guilt - it all became a part of the way I see myself, my identity.
And then my dad dies out of nowhere, and while thanks be to God my mom has been blessed with a very positive attitude, I have been blindsided and a bit shell shocked.
I think I'm done crying on a daily basis about losing my dad, and to be perfectly honest, his loss does not affect my day-to-day life. It's my mother who now has an entirely new life to build for herself. Yet nonetheless I still feel as though I have unfinished business regarding my dad.
I don't feel much regret. A couple years ago, the only time my parents came to our house for Christmas Eve, I thanked my dad for bringing us to the US. In the last year or so, I had started to tell him "I love you" (it's not something we grew up with, so it took intentional effort). And whenever I visited, which I tried to do every month, I made a point to try to have a conversation with him (very difficult with his aphasia), or better yet, try to teach him to read again or just read what he used to type up on the computer, or most recently, play a game of chess or Uno or Jenga.
Mostly, though, he'd just join us for a meal, bring the kids a bunch of goodies he had collected since our last visit, and then went to watch his shows while my mom and I talked. Sometimes he'd join us just to listen to us talk, and sometimes he'd chime in and I'd hope my mom could explain what he was trying to say.
Yet I still feel this constant reminder of "my dad will need a nursing home, we need to figure something out to help my mom" and then I think, "oh, no he doesn't and no we don't. Not anymore." And then even though this is a good thing, it makes me sad because it's a change. I don't remember what it's like to live without having a disabled father. Even if I do think back to 23 years ago, before his accident, I was only 20 years old. And I was an immature 20. I didn't think much about my dad one way or another back then.
I guess if I had to guess, I'd say that before he became "my disabled dad", he was "my dad who brought me to this country". Perhaps I can go back to that. That's a bittersweet thought, but I've had a lot more time to process my immigration losses, and I've incorporated these into my identity, and I am grateful to be living where I live and I have no desire to move back to Poland.
Ok, so let's role play a little here.
Hello. My name is Karolina. I was born in Poland. My father brought my mom and me to the US when I was 8 years old. I'm Catholic and multilingual. I'm happily married for 19 years and we have two spectacular children whom I homeschool. I attend CR for mommy issues. Last year I was diagnosed with autism, and my mother-in-law moved in with us the week before my dad died. That's my life in a nutshell.
I no longer have to worry about finding a nursing home for my dad. I no longer have to worry about financing a nursing home for my dad. I no longer have to worry about my mom continuing to care for my dad. I no longer have to worry about my mom making ends meet. I no longer have to worry about my parents. I no longer have to worry about my mom. I no longer have to worry. I'm free, just as my dad is free, and just as my mom is free. We have all been released from this 23-year sentence, which I pray to God counts as their purgatory time (Catholics will know what I mean).
I don't have a disabled dad anymore. I don't have an aphasic dad anymore. I no longer have a dad who is a bad patient. I no longer have to feel torn between being sympathetic to my dad versus my mom. Those chains have been released. We have all been set free. Each of us headed into a different great unknown.
No comments:
Post a Comment