I want to write about my parents, and what they – and we – are going through, but that means I have to think about it. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about it because thinking about it makes it real, and it makes me cry. I want to talk about my daddy darling, who is diabetic, diagnosed when I was a little girl, and on a type of dialysis he can do himself at home. This means he doesn’t have to go to hospital every other day to do dialysis, and he has a relatively normal life, even though it is structured around when he has to do dialysis and he hates it. He also has dementia, and it’s progressing really fast. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he no longer knows who I am. Or who my son is. And I want to talk about my mommy darling, who retired sooner than she was planning to, so she and my dad could spend as much time as possible together before… Before. Before. Before it is too late. Before my dad is gone. But if I talk about it I have to think about it. And I don’t want to. If I think about it I cry. And I feel guilty for crying because it feels so selfish. My mom is so tired and stressed, she can’t even sing anymore. She doesn’t want to sing. We’ve always been singers. She doesn’t have the will to sing anymore. And that makes me so sad. When I think about what has already changed I cry. Family events have always been big for us. Christmas. Easter. Birthdays. Mothers Day. Fathers Day. My dad took great joy in hiding Easter eggs in the garden for his children and grandkids to find. That won’t happen again. My dad is so easily confused now, and crowds and noise are so stressful for him and for my mom. My dad has always been smart, with an incredible memory, and that’s gone. He knows who we are, and who his grandchildren are, but he can’t follow a conversation anymore and his hearing is bad so too much conversation stresses him. And it all stresses my mom because she never has a break… She is essentially living with a small child, and he can’t bear to have her out of his sight. When he goes into hospital, which is frequently, he gets so confused because he doesn’t know where he is or how long he’s been there or where my mom is and he gets so angry and irritable… And I can’t make it any easier for my mom and I can’t do anything to fix my dad and he’s not going to get any better… And I hate that they’re so fucking far away from me and everything has changed.
There Is Never An Excuse
One in three is not a statistic - one in three is a crying shame.